


Succession

by Snowden



Series: Olivine Canon [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowden/pseuds/Snowden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You might think being a world renowned geologist, paleontologist, archeologist, billionaire businessman, husband, and three time world champion would be enough to sate a man's ego. For Steven Stone, it's not enough, and now he's in the midst of his greatest challenge yet: CEO of the Pokemon League. He may yet regret his decision. Sidestory and prequel to Olivine Romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Hours

Incessant buzzing. Indicator of impending sunrise, impending workday, impending duties. Pain in the ass.

"I'm up!" I grouched, struggling for the Poliwhirl-shaped alarm clock, a gift from the nieces. The digital display read 5:50 A.M.

"Cooooold." The wife moaned her complaint, even though she had (predictably) acquired most of the bedding over the course of the night. I threw what remained of my share of the blankets on top of her. The sheets stank, evidence of our rumpus last night. The act always drained us to exhaustion. She could afford to sleep till 8:00; I was not so fortunate. The secretaries are starting to gossip about my eye rings.

Checklist of morning routines:

Bathroom, visit the toilet, then the sink to wash out the rank scum infesting the corners of eyes and mouth. Stare blankly at my withered face, complete with sagging, darkened eyelids.

Wake up Sally, household computer. Order her to turn the heat on and relax home security.

Walk the house, end in the kitchen. Turn the coffee maker on, prepare a batch of Kanto Valley Brew, retrieve the newspaper. Ignore the news, tear out the comic strips, chuck the rest into the recycling bin. It's Friday, in other words, bacon omelet breakfast day. The alarm was specifically set ten minutes earlier than usual to accommodate the extra cooking time.

Finish cooking, slip omelet onto plate, pour glass of orange juice, sit, and begin simultaneously munching and reading comics. Contemplate cooking skills. Fifty-two weeks in a year, for six years, minus travel, yields roughly 220 omelets cooked in a lifetime; I'm still a below-average cook. Bacon is too crispy today. Meanwhile, this Kid Ikarius strip is pretty funny and politically astute. Chuckle, then chug the orange juice and coffee in turns.

"Ha!"

I lean back into my chair, taking in the various shivers, stresses, groans, tensions, and other random sensations of a freshly woken human body. The first hint of sunlight touches the underside of far-away clouds.

"Alright, I'm awake now."

I navigated through the house, a venerable mansion bought from a dead-man's estate. Modern renovations peaked out at various intervals, gadgets and modern trimmings skillfully implanted into the nostalgic veneer of the place. Down a flight of steps and through an underground hallway, I entered the newly built Rec Center addition. In the main training room, a large computer terminal took up an entire wall. Inserted prominently into six slots were pokeballs of various design. Dozens more were stored within turn-style mechanisms.

"Up and at 'em!"

" _METAGROSS_."

A rumbling vibration shook the walls. My team leader, my pride, my partner, Metagross, burst out of his pokeball. Its idea of greeting the sunrise was to attempt to cause 4.0-scale earthquakes by simply roaring. Or technically, it was vibrating its processor-like brains to warm them up.

" _Meta_." Only seventeen known species can, with training, mimic the human language; Metagross are not one of them. Still, as its longtime trainer, it's easy to pick up the intonations, the slight variations in the pitch and synth of its voice, and the crude language consisting of a limited syllabary. So that, one can understand the mind of one's own Pokémon. They are remarkable creatures, and have much deeper thoughts than most trainers give them credit for. In this case, it's asking what we're doing today, with the implication that it wants to go out and battle.

"No, sorry, it's Friday. Too much work to do." I rub my hand in circles across its surface, as if waxing it. A low vibration, like a grumble, signals its unease, but it appreciates my touch.

"What the hell. Doubt there'll be anything to do, but you can come to work with me."

" _Bommm_!" It liked the sound of that. I went to the turn-style and picked up the first pokeball. A moment later its occupant materialized beside Metagross.

"Amore, dear, how are you this morning? Good? Lovely." Amore, my Gardevoir. Not weak, but by no means a battler, her primary duty was to act as caretaker and nanny to my large collection of Pokémon. "Please look after the others. Friday routine, as usual. Today is free play. Ah, well, I'm taking the main team to work today, so get them awake and ready in a hurry, if you will. I'll be back after dressing."

" _Veyovoir_! _Viora_!" She bowed and then set about her task. I paused a moment, watching her release each of my fifty-two Pokémon, one at a time, into the training chamber. Outside the chamber was my deck, just large enough for a regulation Pokémon match, and then a sheer drop. Beyond that, nothing but fifty-nine acres of unadulterated wilderness. Every conceivable terrain, from rocky river canyons, forested lakesides, craggy hilltops, rolling meadowland, to dank marshland, all patchworked together and available for play. The nice thing about Indigo Plateau, there's just so much _land_ around here. It's not like Mossdeep, where the island forces intimacy with one's neighbors. And it's a far-cry from Redwood and Castelia; I despise my high-rise flats. There's no room to live there, no room for my Pokémon to explore, no room for the inevitable collateral damage when they train. The cities' worst offense is that, seventy and sixty floors up, respectively, I feel so out of touch with the earth. It's much too airy. Indigo, however, is in every way dominated by the earth. The mountains are close by, and enormous, practically reaching into the sky. Only here can I look _up_ and see the earth. This is probably my favorite estate because of that.

Back in the master suite, the lady was curled in a ball. I groomed and dressed as quietly as I could, and then tip-toed over to the bedside. My head bent down to the little corner of face peeping out from the covers. Her breathing was light, barely noticeable even at three-inches' surveillance. I kissed her forehead.

"Goodbye dear. I love you."

"Hnnnm?" She's not really awake or comprehending. I don't want to spoil her slumber too much, though.

"I'll be out late again. 8 at the earliest."

"Mmmkay." She burrowed deeper under the covers, till nothing at all remained visible.

I turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. The furled ball of covers that was my wife was still and silent.

I'm up and gone before she wakes, six days a week. We never talk in the morning, except for these half-conscious interchanges. What if I died at work, one day? What if this was our last exchange? It seemed insufficient, meaningless. I know of people who have departed on worse terms, but that's no comfort to me. I want every single moment we spend together be precious enough to last a lifetime, because, god-forbid, it might have to.

I sighed. Six months on, and our marriage is already on the rocks. Six months on, and this job continues to find new ways to frustrate me. Now I can add morbid thoughts of worrying about final exchanges to the heap.

I collected my fortitude and left the room. A quick stop at the Rec Wing to collect my team- Amore had a done an impeccable job, as usual. I tapped one button on the latch of each to hear their digitized cries. They're still tired and grumpy, but seem happy to get out of the house. Good.

"Alright."

My driver, Wilkins, appeared at 6:55, on schedule.

"It's me versus the world," I muttered, climbing into the back.

These days, with my position? That phrase was more truth than metaphor, it seemed.


	2. The Office

Pokémon League. The organization I work for. Or rather, the organization I control. As CEO, it's my duty to oversee all facets of its operation; to carry out its two prime directives of safeguarding human-Pokémon relationships and regulating professional Pokémon battling to the best of my abilities. Global Headquarters was nominally located in Redwood City, Castor Region. There were 192 National Headquarters spread throughout the world, thousands of regional bases of operation, and an untold number of facilities, gyms, properties, and local nexuses of competition. Indigo Plateau was the National Headquarters for the country of Nihon as well as the Regional Headquarters for the Kanto and Johto regions, and one of the "big five" power-centers of the Pokémon League.

The drive into town was splendid. Traffic was typically easy to navigate, given the hour. Wilkins was not an aggressive driver; he displayed a bottomless patience for the road and its hordes of insane drivers. It was this specific trait I hired him for. Nonetheless, it felt like we practically glided between fourteen-wheelers and SUV's, and the occasional Pokémon serving as land transportation. The only snag was traffic while passing by the largest building in town: the massive, ever-bustling Indigo Arena Complex. Shortly thereafter another large series of buildings came into view.

Indigo Plateau, Pokémon League National Head Quarters, Central Office. I liked the place. It was older, built some four decades ago, and incorporated a much older, more venerable building, the Light of Moltres Temple. The temple was made in the Himeji style, with granite columns and ancient, gnarled wooden beams supporting a curved, multi-tiered roof. HQ itself meshed with the temple, continuing on into a marble and glass façade that rose twenty stories into the air. It was the second tallest structure in the city, lower than the Arena, but both were dwarfed by the mountain peaks looming in the background.

"It's early, no reporters today. Still want around back?" Wilkins asked me.

"Yes, please," I answered. We rounded the complex's exterior and Wilkins dropped me off.

It was a habit of mine to take the temple entrance. There was a sentimental satisfaction in passing between the rough, stone-hewn archways. The building is not so sterile as the Castor Global Headquarters, nor so imposing as that imperious skyscraper. No, these halls are intimate, and comforting, and they have _history_.

My hand passed over a series of four gashes, a scar from a long ago battle between bitter rivals. The shallow stair steps, built for the architect's wife, a cripple before wheelchairs were invented. Strange and precious gemstones imprinted into the stonework, taken from Challenger's Abyss, deepest point in the ocean. The central chamber, a concentric series of stairs, slopes, pathways, all spiraling towards the dais containing the Flame of Moltres itself.

Legend has it the Flame is the incarnation of the first Moltres forefather. Not true; such a thing is a myth. However, it is no lie to say this particular flame was begot by the Flamethrower dousing of an actual Moltres. A tiny population of the legendary creatures are known to inhabit the mountains not far away. The tale goes that, as a young child, Charles Goodshow befriended a wounded Moltres, brought it down from the mountain, nurtured it back to health, and then set it free. As a sign of thanks, it would return every year to light the ceremonial blaze at the regional tournament. It has not been seen since Goodshow's departure, but the flame has been carefully kept ablaze, without pause, for six years.

It's a great story. Every nook and nix of this place tells such a story. Surely, this place is _alive_ , it speaks to me from across the gap of ages.

Then, sadly, my little jaunt through the temple can be slowed no further, and I must enter the swishing doors of the modern era. The HQ building itself is showing signs of age and use, but not in a good way. 20th century buildings just do not age as well as their medieval predecessors. HQ was showing the signs of wear on every corner, every faded wall, trodden carpet, cramped, ill-conforming office, mangled facility assignment. Attribute that to the several thousand office workers buzzing through its corridors each day, working the architecture to the bone.

Effortlessly transiting security, I was soon on the executive floor and greeting many familiar faces all at once. They crowded around me, causing a little bit of nausea. The allotted time for taking the morning nice and easy was officially over.

"Stone!" "Stone!" "Stone!" "Steven!"

"Hold it! Carol, today's agenda. Blair, nice to see you. Adrian, I'm going to need the GLAC files on my desk. Ned, inform the board members we will be pushing the meeting back to after lunch."

"Sir."

"I know you're busy, Steven, but I-"

"Roger. They'll be on it in five."

"Why after lunch?"

I herded the small army of bureaucrats round the floor, till I had positioned myself in my office doorway. I pulled my two closest assistants, Carol and Leto, to my side.

"Leto, deal with the mob. Carol, in here." Leto, looking hapless, stared after us as we entered the door.

"Why alone, sir?" Carol said hesitatingly. She's so cute when her emotions are stirring. I know she's been harboring a secret crush on me since I arrived. It's a fun game, teasing her emotions with a romance that will never, ever have a chance to be.

"For privacy," I said. She averted her eyes and hid her blushing cheeks with the folder she was carrying. I brushed her bangs aside, and in the same motion snatched the folder from her grasp. She jumped in surprise.

"Don't be silly, my dear Carol, you know I'm married.

"I… I… I would think n-nothing of the sort!"

"Would you? Hmm..." I ignored her stuttered embarrassment, instead concentrating on the files. "Did the TV crew come early?"

"Y-yes. How'd you guess?"

"It's because I'm a genius. Open my schedule up, I want to meet them as soon as possible."

"Yes sir."

I call them the TV crew in jest. They're not reporters, but rather the negotiating officers of the broadcast companies. Our television contract was due for renewal and our board was asking for a substantive raise on our take-away. I aimed to deliver.

Carol busied herself on her laptop while I double-fact-checked our leverage points. Here I am, CEO of one of the world's most powerful organizations, and sometimes I feel like I'm little more than a glorified salesman. The money issues were always my least favorite aspect of the job, but I suppose there was no helping it. I took the job knowing what I was in for… Well, actually… That's not true. Balancing the ledgers was _not_ one of the many issues I was expected to address when I was offered the job. The League continues to have an image problem, not a financial problem.

"Brian really should have taken the job if all they wanted was profits," I muttered, not a little bitter. I scratched my head at the figures. Something didn't add up; my math was wrong.

"Metagross, out." I summoned the metallic quadruped out into my office floor. "Glad I brought you. Crunch these numbers for me, will ya?" I rambled on for three minutes, reciting percentages, clause-adjustment ratios, market factor estimation inputs, and a long list of integers attached to seemingly random letters of the alphabet.

"Calculate that, tell me if the answer is anywhere close to 4.45 billion P."

Language was one thing, not Metagross' strong suit. Math was entirely different. Between its four computer-like brains, Metagross could replace our smartest accountant, our lead engineer, and our super-computer, all at the same time. The calculation was complete microseconds after the final figure left my lips: the three second delay in its answer was a courtesy to my human mind, not out of the necessity to complete the calculations.

" _Mross_."

Hmm. Incredible. It was 4.45 billion pokédollars after all. I showed the file to Metagross. Steady and precise as a robot, it lifted its arm up and traced a doodle across the numbers with a single claw.

"Oh that's where I went wrong. Thank you." Damn. The deficit brought to my attention a percentile cut I hadn't been aware of. Government must've written that into the budget without me noticing, the bastards. I pulled the file together.

There was a knock at the door.

"Leto, I thought I told you to keep the-"

The door burst open. I turned to give the intruder hell, but cowed myself as fast as humanly possible. Entering my office were the only two men who could get away with trespassing upon my workspace.

Gabriel Brach, Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Pokémon League, a.k.a. my "boss".

Keido Takame, no one of worldly importance, but despite that, a fiend and a good friend.

"Gabe! Keido! It's been months!" I said this to the latter.

"Yes it has."

"Excuse me, Stone, I need a word,"

"Just a moment Brach, we haven't-"

"Now!" Brach demanded.

"Piper down! I haven't seen Keido in months; unless the building is collapsing, it can wait half a minute!"

These men were both a pain in the ass. However, one was of the "I genuinely despise this man" variety, and the other was a sly, prankstering son of a bitch that made one smile even though one was getting played for a fool. Take a guess which one was which.

"The television broadcasters-"

"Are here and waiting for an audience. Why don't you go entertain them?"

"They're here? This early?" he gasped. I nodded. "I want to see them," he demanded.

"Leto, where are you?"

The young man showed himself. "Here."

"Show Gabe to wherever you've stashed the TV crew."

"Dragonite Lounge, got it." Brach gave me one last glaring look before he followed Leto out the door. Poor Leto, stuck with Brach _and_ the TV negotiators.

"I like that kid. He's not half-bad at battling. Leads with Sigilyph, would you believe it?" I turned to my companion and rival of years long past.

 "Don't underestimate Sigilyphs. It's not a bad choice in shutting the hazard leads and the hyper offensive leads down cold." Keido grinned from ear to ear, then grabbed me in an Ursaring hug.

"How goes holy matrimony?"

"Incredibly exhausting," I replied, standing him back to take a look at him.

"Oh yeah?" He gave me a sly knowing look. "Got the cougar tamed yet?"

"Nope, pretty much still the prey in her paws." We laughed. "So what've you been up to?" I asked.

"Strategic Criminal Intervention consulting in Unova. Some whack jobs by name of Plasma thinking global domination."

"Haha, don't they all. They try to use legendaries too?"

Keido chuckled. "Yep. They don't change, do they?"

"Nope."

There had been an amusing rash of terrorist teams cropping up all over the world, usually deluding themselves about their leaders' purpose and believing ultra-rare "legendary" Pokémon would become their own personal weapons of mass destruction. The leaders were usually insane and the rank and file dredged from the social outcasts, i.e. they look like a cross-section of the dumbest idiots of society. Most were so poorly run that local vigilantes, sometimes young kids even, took them down without needing intervention. It was pretty pathetic all around; their greatest impact was the incredible waste of resources needed to curtail copy-cats. Not since the Rockets' take-over bid six years ago or so had the Pokémon League been seriously threatened by anyone.

 _"Well, besides the government,"_ I reminded myself.

"So what's on your plate today?" he asked, while browsing my collection of geode crystals.

"Television contract negotiations in the morning. Board meeting in the afternoon. Gym Leader oversight in the evening, I believe."

"So, pricks who you need to bleed for money to feed pricks who snuff it up like crack addicts, and then baby-sitting?"

"That is a very concise way of putting it; you are one perceptive individual my good friend." Keido took the wry compliment with a laugh.

"How about you?"

"I'm about to head off to the CRADLE Project office. They're begging for my expertise and with the contract they're offering, I felt obliged."

"How much?" I inquired.

"Oh, let's not talk about figures. Let's just say I might eventually pass you up if I keep getting offers like this. Hehe."

"Haha." We both knew that was never going to happen. As much as I hate money, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sitting on a mountain of investments and prize earnings. Just in the six months of this CEO job, I had already raked in twenty-five times the national GDP per capita. Still, I was barely spending it on anything. A few estates and Pokémon facilities, but other than those fractional expenditures, nada. I don't have the time or freedom from stress I'd like before divesting myself of my fortune. After I retire, maybe then. Maybe I'll find some random charity and turn them into a small Fortune 500 company.

"So, you're busy, what say you and I meet after work. When are you getting off?" he inquired.

"Nine, hopefully," I replied. "You want to go catch some drinks?"

"Nah, battle." Keido smirked. "But drinks after sounds good."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll text you."

"Look forward to it. Be seeing _you_ in the arena," he said, pointing a finger at Metagross as he departed.

"That was your childhood friend?" Carol entered, carrying a stack of papers and computer tablets.

"College rival," I answered.

"Oh."

"We spent most of college chasing the same things: competitions, scholarships, internships, Pokémon, _women_. Hehehe." I couldn't help but chuckle. "That last one did us in. We were about to murder each other for her sake, and she dumped the both of us. That's when we started to chill off and began bonding. Probably for the better, I got a friend and, thanks to not getting hitched then, now I have the most perfect, most adorable wife in the world."

"Hmph. Like anyone else calls that woman adorable," she muttered.

"You did not just insult my wife," I jokingly warned my secretary.

"No, n-no sir! I only wanted to point out no one sees your wife in that way."

"And in what way do they see her?"

"The word 'bombshell' comes to mind," Carol let out reluctantly.

"HAHAHAHA!" I held my face in my hand while wrenching over. That was funny! That was kick in the balls funny!

"HAHAHAAHAAHHAAA!"

Okay, do forgive my outburst, my sense of humor picks the craziest things to explode over.

"Are you okay?" Carol asked, concerned. I grabbed the petite woman's shoulder, holding her off but reassuring her.

"I'll be fine. Just set that paperwork down. Are the TV pricks ready?"

"Half an hour."

"Okay."

It ran by fast. I used a perplexed Carol to rehearse my pitch lines. It's not like differences measuring in the tens of billions of pokédollars are riding on this meeting, right? (note the sarcasm).

"Sir," Carol alerted me to the time. 8:26. I picked myself up.

"Show time."


	3. Hardball

"Gentlemen."

The negotiators of the International Sports Media Alliance lined up before me. Ex-lawyers, all of them, the jocks of the business world. The fellow directly in front of me, Patrick Yarld, was even a criminal prosecutor in his younger days. Occasionally I felt stupid and cocky enough to bully the League's board of directors. These fellows would not take my crap so lightly.

Brian, our chief accountant, and Marx, our revenue specialist, joined me on the Pokémon League's side of the table. I took a deep breath.

"Let's get started shall we? And remember, everyone play nicely."

The showdown began in earnest. Each side laid out the facts as seen by them, while the other tried to skewer the facts in the most favorable light for their own ends. Conversation waxed and waned, like a medieval battle fought across the nuanced plain of advertisement revenue. Each word spoken was measured and weighed, terse and almost inhuman in its predatory dissection. It was a game, a high-stakes game, to find the hidden weakness of the other side.

That weakness was a number. For us, what was the lowest raise in our contract that we could accept? For them, what was the highest they'd yield to us? From an outsider's perspective, it was a robotically civil affair. The nastiness was obfuscated, hidden behind the jingo of business negotiations and within archaic legal contracts. Things as innocuous as "mandatory legal arbitration in the case of biased match coverage" could be taken as an egregious insult to a corporation.

"Stone, understand that the vast majority of our revenue comes from commercial advertisement. Corporations are not so impulsive as the public and will readily draw down their revenue if they feel the returns are not worthwhile. Their data is suggesting the purchasing power of the target audience is declining. They can't justify the same level of ad campaigning as we've heretofore enjoyed. Are you suggesting the data is wrong?"

"No, I trust their data is accurate- for the moment. I only ask that you take into account mitigating factors and look towards the future. I concur that the reason for the decline is the greater composition of young audience members, kids, teens, college students without jobs. However, I believe this is not a permanent shift, but an unfortunate age gap."

"Explain," Yarld demanded- politely.

"In recent years we've seen the decline of the old guard, elite veteran trainers who are either retiring or losing their edge. Case in point, former world champions Terra and Drake have retired in the past two years. Case in point, myself and my own retirement. With them goes their fandoms. Older audience members lose interest in the professional leagues when their favorites quit the game. In turn, young trainers with younger fandoms replace the veterans."

"While understandable, we think that should have a negligible affect on the audience age."

"Ah, but it does. We've had an extremely unusual gap in the age range these past few years. My cohort, the 30 and 40-year-olds, who ought to represent the prime of the Pokémon trainer field, was rather weak compared to the generations before and after them. I partly attribute my own championships to a relatively weak slate of opponents during my lifetime. It only stands to reason that the market looks weak, because the most exciting trainers are still young and attracting younger audiences. As they mature, so will your audiences. Here."

I pulled up a data cross-section on the overhead projector.

"38% of newly-qualified league trainers are in college or recently graduated. That is quite a lot, the most it's ever been. Assuming this reflects the general audience that follows them, that means many of our 'young' fans are about to graduate, take up nice, white-collar jobs, and become the perfect consumer for your ad-purchasers."

Yarld furled his eyebrows.

"You may be overestimating the total purchasing power of the upper-middle class."

"Ah." Time to play one of my trump cards. "But isn't it true you've recently entered into deals with Epic Electronics, Chessram Motors, Orange, and Unova Media Corp.?"

"Where did you hear that?!" Yarld twitched, which in this setting was as good as jumping in shock.

"Nowhere specific. Just putting the pieces together from various public sources." _And maybe a few personal connections_ , I didn't add. "Now, those are all high-end companies, with lots of money, and they target college-grad clientele, don't they?"

"They do."

"So, there you go. If you're willing to look just a little farther down the road, you'll be primed for maximum exposure to a money-rich, passionate, tech-savvy audience. Your contract partners will surely enjoy access to that market, right?"

"You're assuming that market will have jobs in three years."

"Hmm?"

He's about to fire his own shot across the table.

"I know you've seen the data and it's understandable if you want to cherry-pick the most optimistic vectors, but ISMA can't stomach the risk involved."

"You're talking about the government-bubble."

"Precisely."

That prickly issue. Economists are worried about the real value of several major governments and the worth of their bonds. Some were predicting a recession, led by a collapse in the government contract market. Worst, with the Pokémon League being a pseudo-government institution ourselves, it's not like we're isolated from the issue. Hell, Yarld just practically accused the League of being overvalued.

That line of thinking could actually see our contract pay-out get _cut_. That would be a disaster for us. Time to go into the damage control.

"Our vulnerability is not as bad as it appears-"

"Oh really? I find that hard to believe, since your reserve funds have all but drained up. You can't have more than 20 billion pokédollars in the reserves right now."

I winced, which Yarld took note of. We only have 13 billion. Barely a month's worth of operating costs. Another crisis like six years ago would sink the League.

Now I have the unenviable task of figuring out how much of our internal politics I have to reveal to Mr. Yarld in order to assuage him.

"It's true. We're operating on slim margins- yes, even some government subsidies to cover the more critical functions. The best I can offer is that we are financially _sound_.  You're aware that the previous CEO, Lance, was ousted because of the League's floundering public image. However, one of the few good things he did for us was to pay down our debts and get our budget balanced. Even though we saw an astronomical drop in revenue, due to participation- (I winced again, thinking how, in a meeting much like this, Lance was forced to accept an 85% **cut** )- we are now operating in the black with less than 8% debt."

"Hmm."

Yarld wasn't impressed. For all their talk about risk management, the underlying corporate culture hated conservatism. Aiming small and keeping balanced was antithetical to their world-view. They always wanted leverage, profits, explosive growth potential. They rake in debt like crack addicts. They gamble on big earnings and take astronomical risks. They've become very good at dodging the consequences of their bad gambles by manipulating the financial markets.

Still, I could take advantage of their greed. Not quite yet, but soon. When the time was right.

The above conversation was just a small sample. Three hours passed in exactly the same manner, often repeating the same talking points over and over and over, ad nauseam. It amounted to politely insulting the other side's business practices and profitability- and I felt like I was on the losing end. Still, we both knew that, come noon, we would be walking out of here with a number. Both sides had been pushing this negotiating off for months. Now tax day was close and Nihon, Americia, and Anglander, three of the biggest national mega-conferences, had their payout deadline due this Monday.

"That's that. If you can't agree on your exposure to the government subsidies bubble, we can't agree to heavily finance the risk."

"Could I talk to you, alone?" I nodded for Brian and Marx to leave the room. Yarld's cronies likewise exited.

"So, you're ready to talk hardball," Yarld said.

"Yep."

"Give me a number."

"You first," I insisted.

"I insist," he flung back at me. He had his hands folded in his lap, looking, or attempting to look, relaxed and in control. Sometimes the outcome had nothing to do with business realities and everything to do with personal presence.

"Well, before I do- I want to ask, what do you think the League's highball is, in terms of profit over the next five years?"

He stared at me for a moment. "1 trillion."

"Would you believe me if I said it was closer to 2.5 trillion?"

"No." Flat denial.

"Then here." I handed him a tablet with a particular graphic highlighted.

"This is?"

"Attendance data for the past half-year. And projected data for the next year."

"What does attendance have to do with television viewership?" he asked, annoyed. "People who go to games aren't watching them on tv."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked. "Do you really believe it's a zero sum game, that every seat in the stadium is one less pair of eyeballs on your ads? Or are you willing to accept that stadium attendance is indicative of the overall popularity of Pokémon battles. You see that chart, and tell me that the sport is not about to resurge."

"The data doesn't support that," Yarld said.

I stood, bent over, fists on the desk, so I could look the negotiator in the eye.

"You know and I know and everyone knows League play has sucked for five years. Bad battles, bad atmosphere. Lance wrecked the competitive scene. But look around you. People are still training their Pokémon, still sending their teenagers out on Pokemon journeys, still hitting the gyms. The bond between humans and Pokémon is still as strong as it's ever been, and a big, BIG part of that bond is competitive battling. Trust me, the public WANTS a better League. They WANT bigger, better, harder-fought battles. Recession? Recessions just make people spend more on light entertainment, to drown their sorrows away. There is a massive, absolutely massive reservoir of fan support waiting to burst out again after so many years of mediocrity. That fandom will translate into customers. You just need to believe in it. Believe in us. Give us the support. Look at what I've already accomplished after six months, and I promise you that growth will accelerate. _Give_ _me_ your support, and I promise big dividends."

"Mmm." Yarld is slumping in his chair, as if pushed down by the force of my willpower. Was I good enough? Can emotion and appeal to greed work? He seems like he's just on the edge…

I took out my own smartphone and accessed a video. I began playing it, then handed the device to him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Heard of Winstrate?"

"That guy from Hoenn? Uh, like, tenth-ranked in the nation or there-abouts?"

"That's him. Watch."

The video was a battle- and an exciting one. A young girl, maybe sixteen years old, fought the middle-aged Vito Winstrate. She herself looked like a delicate thing, with a white summer dress and cute, spiky twin hair-tails. Her demeanor proved otherwise, however, as she brazenly commanded her Pokémon through the battle. A Steelix thrashed and broke through multiple Double-Team copies, attempting to get at a Shiftry. The latter was suckered into attacking, managing to land a Brick Break but also bringing it within the grasp of the Steelix. The gargantuan metal snake wrapped around Shiftry and combo'd it with Screeches and Earthquakes.

Yarld became engrossed in the video. I let him watch the whole thing through, noting how he muttered and paid close attention. It was easy to tell, now, that he wasn't simply a corporate money-sucking drone, but also a sports fan himself.

"That is one of our Gym Leaders, I believe, in a match last year. She's young, not even old enough to legally hold the title, but she still managed to beat Winstrate, one of the ten best league players in the nation. I'm telling you, she's the tip of the iceberg. The next generation is full of such talent. All told, it might be the most talented in our lifetime. The most exciting- the most audience-captivating."

"That’s subjective, immeasurable," Yarld said, somewhat weakly, while setting the phone down.

Well, he wants measurables? Time to fire my final trump card.

"I'll open in-stadium advertisement to you," I said.

"But that's reserved for the locals," he protested.

"Local governments will be hit harder than federal or world govs if the bubble bursts. They'll pull subsidies, so the local mom-and-pop shops won't be able to afford the space. I can guarantee 20% minimum space, up to 70% if it's a bad recession."

"Name your cut," Yarld said, with a hint of curiosity but also caution. I had him.

"20%," I said flatly.

"8%," he countered.

"18%."

"9%, no more."

"Come on! 14%."

"14%..."

A pause, a held breath.

"Fine. I want to see the stadium access in the contract."

I can't react. I can't show a single sign of emotion. Everything would be ruined. EVERYTHING, if he so much as sniffed weakness.

"Of course."

I held out my hand, which he shook.

"Just think of next year. Sky-high margins."

"We'll see. I hope you're right."

The platoons of businessmen re-entered the room. The next half-hour was spent in details. I gripped Brian beneath the table, a physical warning not to jump when he saw the figure.

14% increase in our contract. 14%!!! Brach had all but said my job was gone if I could get no more than 4%! Our minimum offer, the increase we needed to stay afloat? 6.5%! 7% to make profits! Ha! No! I had gotten double our lowest acceptable offer. DOUBLE!

I am GOOD!

"Hey," Brian whispered into my ear. "You might want to ask for a pay raise from Brach this afternoon, it might be your only chance you get him on a lurch." He finished by knuckling me in the thigh and a knowing grin. The grin instantly turned to a frown when Patrick Yarld came up to us.

"Well, I suppose the next we'll see each other will be next year's meeting," Yarld said to me.

"If I still have this job, yes," I replied.

"You had better. The company is betting on you."

He departed with his goons.

I didn't know this, actually I never found out, but for your benefit: the TV company's max offer had been 20%. Given the League's position and what I had offered, our contract was realistically worth only a 12% increase. In other words, charisma alone had earned us an extra 2%, or approximately 16 billion pokédollars. Enough to buy, say… a moderately-sized private island or two.

As I exited the meeting room, I reached up and around and patted myself on the back.

Easy there, buck-o. Day's not even half over.


	4. Trivial Matters

"Work work work." That was my father's well-worn saying. It was his own motto, and also his advice to anyone who asked him how to become successful.

That was not my idea of how to go about attaining my goals. To my young adult self, it seemed anyone could work their heart out, and in fact, many, many people did. Yes, those kinds of people tended to be successful, but they never attained "greatness". Great, greatest, unsurpassed, unsurpassable, unrivaled, revered. Epithets I aspired to. I wanted to be great. I wanted to be the greatest human being alive. Some might argue I've already attained that status. Now, though, I don't feel so pompous as to claim that goal anymore. I merely want the challenge. Whether it's in academic discovery, business, Pokémon battles, or running the League, I want to take on the greatest obstacles and surpass them, for no other reason than the self-satisfaction of having done so.

Towards that end, I've always done things my way. And mostly, I've succeeded. A perfect 2047-0-0 record in official Pokémon battles. Propelled Devon Corp to the 10th most valuable company in the world and earned hundreds of billions in the process. Earned the top academic prize in the fields of Geology (1987, 1991) and Paleontology (1985). Now, CEO of the Pokémon League. The secret to my success could be boiled down to this: "Multi-task, multi-task, multi-task."

Every human is given an equal amount of time: 60 seconds per minute for 60 minutes per hour for 24 hours per day for 365 days per year- and then variable lifespans provide for some discrimination. Great people are those who take their allotted time and use it as efficiently as possible. That is what I gathered from reading about previous Presidents, CEO's, and Champions. I ignored my father's advice and created my own method: sharpen my mind to the molecular edge, and apply it with precision towards every goal, interest, and fancy that crossed my path. Very often, that meant organizing my sub-goals into mental constructs and applying a blueprint to achieving them while wasting as little time as possible. My days became compact, tasks were stacked on top of each other, smaller matters were delegated to the most capable subordinates, and so on. Trivial matters fouled this complex multi-tasking mental system of mine up- they were to be avoided at all costs.

Which is why, when I scanned the case brief that had landed on my desk, I was not happy at all. Not. One. Bit.

I looked up to Ned, across my desk, with imposing eyes.

"Can you explain why this is on my desk?" I asked in as measured a tone as I was capable of.

"It's a taxonomy issue. They want you to name a Pokémon."

"Ned," I began, "We have entire _branches_ dedicated to taxonomy. Why is this on _my_ desk?"

"I don't know, it was just in the work queue..."

Carol interposed herself between me and the unfortunate secretary.

"It's not a mistake, sir. This actually came from the judicial agency."

"Judicial?!" What in the hell had judiciary proceedings to do with naming a new Pokémon?! Had the scientists, I don't know, named it after a censored curse word? Has the dictionary run dry of non-copyrighted pseudonyms?! This is ridiculous! A complete waste of my valuable time!

"Please let me explain, sir!" Carol begged. She's just realized she's taken Ned's place as the unfair focal point of my anger, and now she's looking fairly skewered- like a Magikarp on a shish-kabob. "Um. Um… So, explorers confirmed the existence of a new Pokémon deep inside Mt. Pyre-"

"Which one?" I asked testily, for clarification.

"Pardon me?"

"There are three Mt. Pyre's, which region's mountain are we talking about?"

"Castor Region's Pyre."

"Castor? There shouldn't be any new Pokémon to discover in Castor," I stated, puzzled and annoyed. I double-checked the file to make sure my secretary wasn't making a mistake. Yet she was right, even though it didn't make any sense. Castor's native Pokémon population was completely wiped out by a cataclysmic volcanic eruption some three hundred years ago. That blast had made the world's collective nuclear arsenal look like a backyard, amateur firecracker show in comparison. Basalt sediments thirty feet deep deposited over thousands of square miles. The only Pokémon endemic to the region in the modern age were brought there by settlers, primarily from Hoenn and Johto.

"Sir, you should have read more carefully. The new Pokémon species is a Fire/Dragon, and has all the traits of an Alpha-2 Tier."

Alpha-2 Tier, huh. The general public calls these kinds of Pokémon "pseudo-legendaries". Very powerful Pokémon once full evolved.

"This dragon-type may have been the cause of the volcanic activity in the region. At least, they are just the kind of Pokémon you would expect to survive an eruption, even of that magnitude."

"Still-"

"Let me continue… please?" she implored. I shut up and waved her to get on with it. "The new species was confirmed virtually simultaneously by two expeditions, and each expedition had three collective sponsors. All six sponsors now have conflicting claims on discovery and naming rights. The matter was sent to Taxonomy and was expected to be settled there… until it was discovered that the head of Taxonomy had a conflict of interest in the case, due to a personal connection to one of the sponsor research groups. In addition, three sponsors recently filed lawsuits to uphold their claims, and two others have surfaced contract claims. Legally, the case couldn't be decided by arbitration and was kicked to judiciary."

"Good god."

Carol continued.

"It was then kicked up the chain of command, due to most bureaucrats not wanting to get involved, since the sponsors were bringing in larger business and law firm allies to help them. The issue fell to Director Chappalan, but he removed himself from the case for unknown reasons."

I batted an eyebrow at this. Chappalan voluntarily removing himself? He shouldn't be able to do that… unless he had an undisclosed interest in the case and was trying to protect his relationship with someone. Which meant I now had an agency head to investigate.

"Why so much squabble over a name?" I grimaced at the lunacy of it. "Money. I bet you someone has money staked on this. Only explanation."

"Don't attribute everything to money. Ego is just as powerful."

I waved her off.

"So the matter should have been left to his immediate subordinate."

"True, but in this case, there was a conflict of succession and primacy between Chappalan's two senior lieutenants."

"Kkk!" My veins must be visible. I have a suspicious judiciary head, squabbling agency lieutenants, one agency tied by red tape and another too afraid to play with big business, Arceus knows how much money invested by trademark companies, and six sponsor research groups with super-inflated egos, all at each other's throats-

-over a Pokémon's _name_.

"So I'm supposed to untangle all the legal obligations and contract laws to figure out who has the rightful claim?"

Carol curtsied.

"Bring lunch into my office. Tempura's, #10," I shouted as she scurried off. My fist met the table, as if smashing the papers into pulp would solve the problem. Alas, brute force was neither my style, nor effective in this situation.

When I couldn't banish a task away with sheer intellect, I tended to fall back on the more traditional meaning of multi-tasking: give up much needed free time. Guess I'll have to work through my lunch hour.

….1 hour later.

"This is bullshit."

I chomped on the upscale Sino dish, while scratching lines from one page and across to the next. There was no easy way to decipher this. The one useful field I never mastered and had no intention of mastering was Law. My range of experience was not enough, forcing me to deduct basic relationships, painstakingly scrounging dense language and applying basic logic, sometimes guessing at terminology. A full hour in and I had made enough headway to determine these contracts were full of contradictions and incompatible with each other. Which means I could waste my whole evening untangling this mess. Or I could shuffle it down to a lawyer. But, considering the only lawyers we have are either in accounting (no good for contract law) or judiciary (where all the hussies hadn't touched the job the first time through), I was left holding the buck.

"This is a waste of time."

Hmm. What to do.

I plucked out one of the last pages in the brief, buried under a pile of legal documents. It was just a summary of the competing claims, including a naming scheme for the new Pokémon. Or, as I discovered, trio of Pokémon- one base Pokémon and its two evolutions.

"Magamoor. Bullrain. Karchow." Yeah. Sometimes, scientists need less imagination. Do they think, if they won, that the public would honestly call this Fire/Dragon a "Magamoor"? Hell no.

I skimmed the rest of the list.

"Volva, Volvor, Volcane." That's simple. I lifted up a blurry, indistinct photo showing a quadruped creature in the distance: physical description commencing as such: dim-red scaled skin, narrow, whip-like wings, a hooked tail, sharp snout leading to flanged skull ridge, and a body curled in smoke and cinders. The most prominent feature were a pair of ominous glowing eyes, staring directly at the photographer. A fearsome creature to be sure, especially given its position wading through a flow of liquid magma. There was a moment's contemplation, before deciding the "Volcane" name was acceptable.

The only pause I had was the slim chance I would be sued for the hasty, extrajudicial decision.

So?

Fuck. No one was going to rat me out to Internal Affairs- especially when Judiciary is so screwed up. Our courts hadn't done their job, and now they left it to my executive decision. If I got the call wrong, who's it going to? The government courts? There's no jurisdiction for them; they don't make Pokémon Law, we do. If someone wants to blame me afterwards, they won't have anyone to complain to.

"Ned?" I called the boy in. "Tell them this company," I circled the group that was pushing for the Volcane name, "-has naming rights. Oh, and, sorry for noosing you like that. Speak up when you're taking unfair blame."

"Yes sir. Then, I want to bring to your-"

"Not right now, sheesh." I resumed dipping the shrimp into the delicious tempura. That's one petty issue solved. I'm sure a dozen more are already lined up for me. That's one of the things with this job. There's just a huge amount of stress associated with the major decisions; but at the same time you get bombarded by an endless stream of little Torchic-shit. It's a distraction, one that's seriously degrading my performance as a CEO. I try dad's advice and work harder, but that ends up biting more and more chunks out of my already-swiss-cheesed personal time.

Well, for now, at this moment, nothing else had better get in the way of me and my shrimp!

…

From trivial business to nature's business. Not even restroom breaks are sacred- I checked my e-mail via smartphone while using the toilet. Luckily it's my own private restroom (complete with shower!) and I don't have to worry about awkward interruptions. Don't you just hate people who chat on their cell phones in public restrooms? I do. It makes it difficult to piss.

Wipe, flush, exit stall, wash hands at sink.

I feel tired. It's only midday. I slumped down onto my two knuckled fists, staring at the ragged image in the mirror.

It's true what the secretaries are saying. I'm getting baggy eyes.

Brach and the rest of the board are expecting me at a meeting in fifteen minutes. Of course, I planned to regale them with the 14% TV contract increase. Chances are, however, they already know and won't stomach an hour's worth of protracted gloating. They'll want me to explain what I intend to do with the extra money. In other words, explain which of their precious pet projects get funded for another year, and which of them get the ax. Then I get to go back to my office and figure out which programs we _actually_ need. I then have to invent spin and white lies as to why I didn't keep my word to the bloated cogboars, when in fact I so dearly wish I could chew them out for diluting our precious resources for such endeavors as "Scrafty Sexual Dimorphism Appreciation Parades". Instead, I must silently curse and outwardly nod for the sake of the fourteen men who held ultimate control over the League. Such is the delicate fiscal hemorrhaging act I perform on a week to week basis.

What a day.

My phone beeped, indicating an incoming text message.

**"Don't work too hard! I want you tip-top for tonight! C."**

**"Yes dear,"** I texted her back.

Hearing from her usually makes my day. But lately, not so much… Maybe it's all the work-related stress. Maybe it's because I didn't want to think about our marriage during my lunch constitution. I blame work, but I can’t deny that I use work as a scapegoat for our relationship issues. Namely, me not being home for the vast majority of the week. It didn't help that we were moving residences every few months, and that I had to take ~15 business trips in between. She could be plum-happy, on the border of a nervous breakdown, or cheating on me, and I wouldn't know the difference. I sighed. It just made this next daily routine of mine all that much heavier on my conscience.

Underneath the sink was a cabinet, usually reserved for cleaning supplies. I opened the door and reached into the back, behind the various plumbing fixtures.

"Nhh." My hand reemerged from the crevice, holding a bottle of medicine.

**'Teclazome- male contraceptive. Take one daily. Do not give to children. WARNING! This product will not prevent STD's. Ask your doctor if adverse symptoms appear.'**

I popped one of the tiny blue pills into my mouth, swallowed, and that was that. The bottle went back into its hiding place.

I steadied myself, allowing a few moments of guilt to wash through me. The same guilt I forced myself to swallow every day. In these moments of weakness, I reaffirmed my long held belief, also passed down from my dad:

"Steven, you would make a terrible father."


	5. Enemies

I hate weakness, most especially in myself. The world thinks I am the epitome of swag, unable to feel fear or doubt. That was a far cry from the truth. It took effort, real effort, to walk into the board room each and every time, looking as if I owned the world. It was an act, one that I had become very good at faking. Some call this bravery, I call it theatrical talent. It primarily involved shoving my doubts down into a deep, dark pit, only to be unearthed later, in privacy, with no one to share them with but my wife.

She… she is a far stronger person than I. A better trainer, too. It's a wonder I have this job and she doesn't- although that might be because I simply have more patience for the greed and stupidity that permeates bureaucracy. Still, I wish she was here, by my side, someone I could trust and lean on. I can handle having enemies (six or seven of them in this very room), but that doesn't mean I enjoy the hostilities.

"Good afternoon!"

Fake smile, practiced confidence. Most of them bought it, except, predictably, Gabriel Brach. He wore the un-amused expression that typically graces the Feraligatr species.

Surrounding him were the other fourteen members of the board, as well as another twenty or so senior officers of the Pokémon League. I took my place at the head of the long, mahogany table. Carol prepared the wall-encompassing view screen and then took her place dutifully behind me. Eyes bore down on me like court justices.

"First of all, my sincere apologies for pushing the meeting till after lunch. I realize many of you have busy schedules and this shuffle may have interrupted your work. However, I felt that it was a necessity to ensure the best outcome for the Pokémon League."

"A necessity?" Gabriel wasted no time in interrupting. "Considering that the prime agenda of this meeting was discussion of the upcoming TV contract negotiations, and that you have already concluded those negotiations on your own initiative, I fail to see why this meeting is necessary at all, Mr. Stone." Brach's pen snapped against the surface of the table.

"The agenda hasn't changed." I tapped the compad, bringing a hastily-built (thank you Leto) power-point slide onto the main screen. "We can still cover the TV contract, but in a more positive light. Our revenue intake increased by - standby," as I moused over the data sheet to highlight the bottom line- "14%. Roughly 112 billion pokedollars. With that projection, we have enough to cover our debt, overhead, baseline budget, and outstanding expenses, with a remainder of 56 billion for growth."

I paused, hoping for surprise, shock, or applause. None was forthcoming. Figures. These men are typical stonehearted pricks, not even the promise of an immense windfall is enough to get them excited. Besides, it's very likely they've already seen and digested the new number. It was too much to ask for a "that-a-boy, Stone!" from them.

"In lieu of this, I suggest we focus on the budget."

That is exactly what happened, and for the first two hours it went surprisingly smoothly. 65% of our budget were fixed expenses: debt and interest payments (thankfully low), worker's salaries, taxes, facility maintenance, pensions, the like. The other 35% was divided and categorized according to priority; this list included wildlife programs, gym support, safety protocols, event sponsorship, tournament hosting, compliance personnel… basically a million individual items spread across two dozen agencies. Fortunately, most of these had a preset position in our priority scheme. Meaning, the afternoon was  largely spent going down our list and saying, yes, this particular event is worthy of the #182 spot and gets to keep current funding levels for this year. Objections were few and far between. Of those, all were rejected that were expected to be rejected, and the three questionable items on the list were, also as expected, nicked from the list. The idea was to go down the list, and when we ran out of money, everything below that line would be cut or floated (meaning more debt). That's usually when the fighting begins- businessmen who suddenly realize their pet projects are on the edge and arguing for greater priority, or begging for loans to keep them afloat.

Today, due to the TV contract, we had a different fight on our hands. The League does not function like any other enterprise I had worked for. Governments and corporations, when faced with the enviable position of having surplus funds, have simple and straightforward methods of divesting themselves. Governments give tax rebates, and businesses pay dividends to their stockholders. The Pokémon League, being neither a for-profit enterprise, nor a government-held  company, has to actually spend any additional funds it comes by. This becomes difficult when thirty different men have thirty different ideas about what needs fixing in the League and how to spend that money.

The arguments were… heated.

"We've already bookmarked increases for the Judiciary and Policing agencies. I-"

"In what amounts? Unless it's better than the 6.5% I last saw one hour ago, it's hardly enough. You've purposefully let the Policing Department's budget lag." Brach arguing against me, as usual.

"Its budget was super-inflated when I arrived."

"And you'll ignore reports of abuse and criminal neglect? Don't you think it is irresponsible to undercut the Policing Agency when the world is going mad?"

"The threats are exaggerated. When-"

"The Unovan League was assaulted! You call that exaggerated?!"

He's raising his voice against me. I don't like shouting matches. I try to keep my voice in a businesslike tone at all times, but it's difficult when Brach continues to cut me off.

"Brach, it's not the League's job to combat criminals! We're only here to aide-"

"It is our responsibility to oversee Pokémon regulations! If the criminals use Pokémon it becomes our job to stop them!"

"No, it is not!" Despite myself, I've been raising my voice to match his. "We will take more flak from the government by treading on their jurisdiction. We are-"

"Their juris-"

"WE ARE NOT the world's police force!" That little outburst silenced the rest of the table, as well as Brach. They stared at me and Gabriel, nervous, wondering if this personal feud would ever erupt into violence.

"I should have known where your sympathies lie when you came into this job," Brach muttered.

"Might I remind you that it was YOU who invited me to take the position. Throw me out if you like but think of the situation the League would be in without me," I fired at him.

"Easy, easy," one of the board members interjected, trying to calm the atmosphere.

Brach settled into his seat, eyes shifting left and right, looking for support. Some of the trustees nodded, some shifted, indicating they were taking my side. Still, 2/3 of them looked like they would rather get to business.

"Judiciary won't qualify for additional funds until they've done an internal audit, which they're past due for." Chief Accountant Brian directed this towards Brach. The chairman deflated upon hearing of the technicality.

He's given up, for the time being. I expect he'll campaign behind my back for the next month, and bring the issue back full force at our next meeting. It'll be difficult to convince the board that policing Human/Pokémon relations should not be a high priority for us. Given the governments' attitude towards us these past few years, allowing another criminal team to use Pokémon against the public would sink our reputation even further. Even if the cost of doing so might bankrupt us.

"I want to move on to another matter. Our Gym Leader system."

"What about it?" The board collectively raised their eyes.

I tensed. This may or may not go over well. "I want to invest 30 billion into the system over the next two years."

"30 billion?" Mutters bounced around the room.

"You're aware we've hit a major age gap in the trainers' ranks. Partly due to the baby boomers, partly due to an unusual dip in talent, we're lacking qualified middle-aged trainers to fill the gyms. The problem goes beyond the gyms, but we can't control that. We _can_ help alleviate our own system."

"What's the concern?" someone asked.

"The Gym Leaders are a filter to entry for our regional tournaments and circuits. Allowing too many subpar candidates to qualify floods the system, produces chaos at the tourney sites, and poor matches that turn away audience members," explained Gloria, our Battling Department Chief Officer.

"Thank you, Gloria," I said. "In addition, the gyms were co-opted into our system a half-century ago. They were originally pillars of the community, providing support and services to the cities they're located in. They still do, in fact. I think that the job, beyond trainer vetting, that gyms and Gym Leaders do for us is a valuable public service that can't measured in dollars or statistics. Not to mention, any goodwill they generate transforms into goodwill for the League in general.

So! Allowing them to decay is not in our best interest. What I want to do is provide education, qualification, and general support to the youngest candidates for Gym Leader. I think we have a very, _very_ talented generation of kids, but they won't reach their potential if we don't support them. In particular, I want to attract top talent to the gyms. This means, among other things, pay raises- and subsidized qualification and education regimes. PR campaigns to find up and coming trainers. There are bloody good trainers out there who can't afford a Gym Leader lifestyle on their own. I think a merit-based financial aide system would serve us well."

"Hold on there," Brach, again intervening.

"Brach, are you going to argue with Stone about this? No one wants another shouting match."

"What now? As board chairman I think I'm entitled to question Stone's approach," Brach argued.

"Considering the influx of funds thanks to Stone, I'd be more willing to give his ideas a shot."

"Do you have an agenda against the Gym Leaders, Brach?"

"We're past the judicial issue."

A chorus of annoyed reprisals sounded out against the chairman.

Glad to see some board members sticking up for me.

"I'm not questioning the value of the Gym Leader system, merely Stone's approach! I want to know why he's so dismissive of the current generation, and whether he even bothered to look into ways of improving the system as is! His approach has no indication of solving our modern day issues."

"You're right, Brach," I said. "It may be crass of me, but I and my staff have pretty much given up on trying to improve the system as is. We're willing to deal with a short-term fizzle if it means large gains further down the road. I'm gambling on creating a new wave of Gym Leaders that will become a pillar of strength within the Pokémon League for the next half-century."

The next half hour was spent going over my plan to rejuvenate the Gym Leader system. My arguments, in very simplistic terms, boiled down to "Youth = Good!". Brach, who questioned and criticized me on every point, could be reduced to a brainless Chatot spouting "Youth = Hooligans!" ad nauseum.

It's not like he could stop me from executing this program. He has no day-to-day power, whatsoever. If he did, there would be no need for a Chief Executive Officer. Still, he is the deciding vote in a tie on overarching matters the board is in charge of (like whether to keep me as CEO), and he has the power to veto certain decisions (like signing off on large loans, which this Gym Leader project is sure to need down the road). I have to play nicely. There were times when I had to compromise, or give up altogether. Right now looked like one of those times, as Brach was hung up on one particular sore point.

"I want to reduce the qualification requirements on new and current Gym Leaders," I offered.

"Why?"

"Potential Gym Leaders find the requirements onerous. We'll dissuade talent if we constantly hold them to impossible standards."

"You- how do you expect to make sure those trainers are talented in the first place without quality control?" He looks miffed.

"It's a matter of details. I think we need to tune the job assessments softer."

"They are fine as is."

"As-is?" I brought up a new page on the power point.

"Look at this list. Eighty-six requirements for attaining Gym Leader status. Seventy-five different ways to incur probation. Probation has been receiving many complaints recently. Leaders are saying it is unfairly and arbitrarily handed out, and the terms are harsh. 50% win ratios, per trainer, to keep one's Gym Leader license."

"Per trainer?" Brian asked, puzzled.

"Gym Leader win ratios are determined by the ratio of how many trainers win their badge versus how many attempt to earn their badge. A single victory for the challenger negates multiple defeats. It's harsher than simply counting straight wins and losses," explained Gloria.

"It's the primary performance indicator. Leaders are unhappy that the minimum is set so high, and that no other factors are taken into consideration. The trend amongst them is to take additional challengers, broadening their opponent base, which has the effect of giving the leaders more easy wins to artificially inflate their ratios. The leaders hate doing this: they say it's dishonorable and creates a heavy workload. These problems are only magnified with the additional burdens of probation. They'd rather have us go to an ELO-ratings system than continue with the per trainer win ratio."

"They know the terms coming in." Brach grimaced. "Allowing the screw-ups a second chance is generous enough, it should be expected they'd be held to a high standard if they want to retain their Gym Leadership."

"It's driving away talent," I argued.

"If they were talented, they would easily be able to avoid probation and meet the requirements," Brach countered. "As for ELO, that would necessitate registering every trainer into a centralized database- something you yourself have aggressively fought against."

"Yes, but-"

We bantered back and forth, back and forth, attempting to find a fixture of weakness, looking for flaws in the other's arguments and leverage in our own.

The current situation was this: Gym Leaders were required to attend a yearly summit and take exams in order to retain their Gym Leader title. This policy was enacted during the previous administration, to vet Gym Leaders. It was supposed to make sure only the strongest and most loyal leaders survived. During the Rocket debacle, our strongest Gym Leaders had sided with the Rockets, and the loyal ones had proved weak or incompetent. Thus the need to prove themselves via exams.

If the Gym Leaders flunked, they were either forced out, or in lesser cases, put on probation. Probation victims had to abide by strict guidelines for a 4-to-12 month period in order to keep their job. Many Gym Leaders were arguing, however, that it was far too easy to flunk the exams, and the probation terms were far too strict, thus culling perfectly fine Gym Leaders from the ranks.

"50% win ratios are too demanding. Historically, Gym Leaders only manage a 35% ratio, average. We've lost more good Gym Leaders to probation than to retirement the last year."

"That's not true. Don't spittle biased, fairy-born data at me. There were more than 150 Gym Leaders retiring last year-"

I swiveled in place, accessing the power point again. The relevant data popped up- 112 retirees, 136 probation-failures. Having proven my statement, I allowed Brach a moment to feel dumb. He slowly brought his fist to the table.

"It doesn't change the necessity of keeping high standards. If we don't hold our own to high standards, the League will become a pushover."

"It's onerous, and creating fear. We should at least reduce the 50% to something reasonable."

"Only for those in good standing," Brach conceded. "Say, 15%."

"And those on probation? 50% is…"

"No compromise. Trim say-" and Brach used a digital pen on the power-point to cross out one-third of the probation-incurring offenses. "-these out, but leave the restrictions. Any Gym Leader who's up to the task should be able to avoid probation now."

"You're suggesting we make it easier to pass the exams, but still keep prohibitive measures if they land in probation?"

"Lower the bar, but make the bar out of barb wire," Gloria offered as analogy.

"Precisely."

Ack! It seems the board is nodding along with this. I could still see ways in which Gym Leaders would get caught in probation unfairly. The battle-portion of the exams were not scaled well enough- if one unfortunate soul got a powerful opponent, say, you would get lower marks than what you might have otherwise earned against even competition.

Still, it didn't look like Brach was going to budge.

In the end, the strict Gym Leader qualifications were mostly left intact. That was the compromise I had to offer in order to get my youth investment project funded. Maybe, one day, when Brach retires, I can actually get things done.

I looked Gabriel Brach up and down. For a seventy-something geezer with a pot-belly and balding knob of a head, he's actually looking spry and energetic. He's got nerves like a live-wire, and a stubborn streak that extends to his health. He might not retire this decade. Which is a travesty, in terms of what I want to do with the Pokémon League. I didn't plan to stay in this job that long, unless I absolutely had to. If only he would catch a minor stroke or something equally debilitating!

Brach was a relic of a bygone era. He had appointed me League CEO, but only when the situation had become untenable and the rest of the board was grouching for him to do so. From the day I took office he's been a naysayer and conflict-brewer.

How had it come to this?

You could say it was Goodshow's fault.

Seven years ago, Mr. Goodshow had been CEO of the League. He was a well-loved man, famous for darn well everything and adored by the public. Unfortunately, he was also a naïve man. He was overly generous, both to his associates, random strangers, and with the League's budget. Numerous public welfare projects put the League into massive debt. He was blind to corruption in his close friends, who took advantage of his kind, grandfatherly nature and hands-off CEO-style to run their departments like tyrants. No less than six agency heads were later arrested for bribery, fraud, larceny, and abuse of power.

Tournament trainers would complain of Goodshow's favoritism. They claimed he gave too much benefit of the doubt, leniency, and easy chances to trainers he had met personally. As one example, when a technicality created a tie in the Kanto League Championship, Goodshow awarded the title to the trainer he claimed had more "compassion" for his Pokémon.

All this created an atmosphere of chaos and decay in the Pokémon League. Even as the League's excesses needed to be reigned in, the old man grew senile, and refused to do anything about it.

Team Rocket attempted to use the chaos to their advantage. They convinced a large number of Gym Leaders, officers, and trainers to join them in an attempt to overthrow the Pokémon League and install themselves as the new League. They failed, barely, and only because their leader was indicted on an unrelated criminal charge (unethical bioengineering of Pokémon) and vanished into hiding. Nonetheless, the criminal campaign caused a massive stir.

Then… _that_ _day_ … happened. The World Championship crisis.

After _that_ , the national governments took action. They threatened to shut down the Pokémon League and ban Pokémon battles outright. Frighteningly, the general public backed them.

Goodshow lost all support. Brach, a longtime rival of Goodshow, ascended to the Chairman of the Board and had Goodshow booted. A new CEO was appointed, the one man who had the greatest reputation as a strict disciplinarian. A man who ended up ruling the League like a dictator.

Lance, the Dragon Master.

Lance did his job effectively, insofar as the job that was assigned to him was presented. He swiftly chopped the budget in half, eliminating many welfare and research projects, services and subsidies alike. Pokecenters were, for the first time in their history, made to charge for their services.

Brutally strict safety measures were enacted, shield generators were required to be installed in every gym and battling facility run by the League. Infractions were given harsh offenses: steep fines; revocation of titles, Gym Leader status, and worst, the right to own Pokémon.

Tournaments were wrung dry. Security became oppressive. The final straw came from an attempt to force trainers to register and pay taxes for each Pokémon they owned.

Tournament attendance and TV revenue plummeted. That segment of the public that owns Pokémon (about 1/3 of the whole population!) became disgusted. They began refusing to buy into the League, cutting off its revenue. Then they began ignoring its mandates, creating a nightmare for our Judiciary and Policing Departments.

Then the demonstrations, and then, worst of all, the riots.

Six months ago, with the League's reputation in tatters, everyone knew something needed to change. Everyone but Brach.

The stubborn man had hand-picked Lance and firmly supported the dragon master until the very end. Brach promised to transform the League into a responsible regulatory body- a vision far different from the Pokémon-Human promotional organization the founders envisioned. What he really seemed to want was a dictatorial group that controlled every aspect of Pokémon ownership. To Brach, Pokémon are monsters- scary, aggressive, unreliable, unknowable, unquantifiable. He didn't understand them or the bond they share with their masters; he didn't want to understand that bond; and because he didn't understand he was afraid. As usual for a man of that age and mindset, whatever he couldn't understand he needed to control.

It was only when revenues threatened to create a massive deficit did he begin to accept reality. We didn't have the reserves to absorb any losses, and our credit was trashed so badly banks were refusing to lend us money. The board revolted, and threatened to remove Brach if he didn't do something. Reluctantly, and only after dragging his feet for a month, did he ask Lance to resign. The latter was extremely angry himself, and to this day bears a grudge against the board for ousting him.

That's where I come in. With my impeccable reputation, popularity amongst the fanbase, and business savvy, I seemed like the best option for reviving the public image of the League while simultaneously keeping corruption and finances under control. Brach didn't want to hire me initially, but 12 of the 14  board members pushed for it.

I was not some passive spectator then. I'd been pushing, through the media and my contacts, for reform in the League. When I was offered the chance to directly influence the system that governed my beloved Pokémon, I jumped at the opportunity.

And so, here we are today, me leading the Pokémon League while contending with the powerful, powerfully and permanently perturbed man who did not want to hire me in the first place.

"That concludes our session today."

The members began filing out, eager to get back to their own work. The lucky and lazy ones would be heading home. Brach staid my exit for a moment.

"Gabe."

"Steve."

"I don't see why you don't trust me," I said.

"It's because you’re an upstart. I can't have you running the show as you please."

"Why not? It seems my way is working."

"Because! Hmph!" He put his hands into the pockets of his coat. "If I don't oppose you, no one will, and then you'll fall to the same ape-foolery as Goodshow."

"Do you hate me, then?" I asked.

"Hate? No, not really hate," Brach said, his voice lingering, and his eyes refusing to make contact. It's like he's drifting off into thought as a means of avoiding direct conversation. "It's principle. I'm much older than you, I've seen too many times these so-called 'wonder-childs' let power get to their heads, no matter how pure they are. I had some respect for you, because of your work at Devon. Wouldn't have given you the chance if not for that. I didn't want to see you become some diva that will ruin the long term health of this organization."

Devon? Oh, glorious. Brach does not own Pokémon, he could never comprehend how historical my perfect battling record is, or how much my career as a world champion mattered to our fanbase. Instead, he focuses on my business record. Quite frankly, I found that aspect of my life boring.

"What I'm trying to say is this: I don't want you thinking you can do whatever you want and then trampling on morality and minority opinions. Someone needs to check you, and I'm the only one in the position to do it."

"So you really are blowing hot air at me out of… principle, you said?"

"That's right."

Gabriel Brach picked up his briefcase and made briskly for the exit.

"You're such a stereotypical old fart," I shouted after him.

"And you're the spoiled, snot-nosed, rebellious brat every father dreads!" came his mocking answer.


	6. The Strong and Weak Wills of Women

"Let's go visit the battle facilities," I suggested on a whim. Ned, Leto, and Carol gave each other confounded looks, wondering what their boss was up to.

In truth, I was worried about my proposal. The gym system had been lackluster as of late, and not for the first time. The issues were cyclical. The gyms simply did not register on the radar of the corporate heads. They earned practically no revenue, and many of our more unimaginative pencil-pushers constantly questioned their value. Without attention, the gym system typically falls into neglect and disrepair. Leaders get lazy, their talent slacks, the gym buildings themselves stop receiving proper maintenance, the league becomes flooded with bad and/or gimmicky trainers, the trainer-base becomes disgruntled by poor competition, the fanbase is turned off by the lack of parity, etc. and etc. Only when the whole thing verges on collapse do the officials pay attention, and even then they only do enough to avoid disaster. My proposal was the largest concerted effort to bolster the gyms since they were co-opted into the Pokémon League some sixty years ago.

Now I was questioning whether the effort was worth it. I would have to fight many vested interests to push it through. There were no guarantees that, even if it was smooth sailing, the League or the public would see any significant improvement.

Could I do it? I'm not sure.

Doubt. It's a powerful enemy.

The younger men were chatting casually with each other. Carol stood close by, evidently noticing the growing stress building inside of me. It's like she wants to touch me, comfort me, but professional etiquette kept her hands at bay. The poor thing.

"Let's go to the battle facilities," I repeated. "Aren't they holding training regimes today?"

"They might be," Ned answered.

I needed to take my mind off of the political battle ahead of me. I was thinking visiting the arenas and watching Gym Leaders in action would help relieve some stress and remind me what I was fighting for. Most days of the week Gym Leaders were invited to train at our facilities; hopefully that would be going on today.

The three of us strolled through League HQ. Bright and shiny corporate chambers gave way to dimmer, moldier hallways. Florescent lighting yielded to yellow incandescent bulbs, impressionist paintings to white-and-black photographs of ancient (1960s), famous battles. Between the battle facilities and corporate offices, it was obvious which one had received priority for renovations.

 _'Good. Leave it that way,'_ I caught myself thinking.

We were on a third floor corridor stretching two hundred yards long. Along either side bay windows looked out over a series of battle arenas, six on each side. These were used for everything from supplemental tourney sites to tactical safety assessments. Today only four were occupied, and two of those were casual battles between employees.

"Carol, what's going on here?" I asked out of curiosity, motioning to the latter two matches. At first glance, it didn't appear to be the Gym Leader training rounds I was expecting. For one, two of our League officials were lined up as opposition. For another, these appeared to be full-fledged battles.

"Gym Leader qualification assessments."

"Oh, interesting."

Gym Leaders are appointed in a myriad of ways. The position can be inherited from a family member, voted on by the town council, recommended by the regional Gym Leader association, or seized via ritualized battle. The one common denominator, however, was the League's licensing. Every candidate had to be vetted by the Pokemon League before they had the right to distribute badges. This meant an arduous testing regime, culminating in a live battle exam.

"Hmm."

"You look like you're going to ask a lot of questions," she offered.

"You know me so well," I told her. She looked away, as if embarrassed. I pointed to the two middle-aged men in uniform coats. "Are they scaling the score to their opponents?"

"Right, one second." Carol collected herself and brought out a tablet computer. "No, actually, the candidates are facing a strictly regimented opponent. The League officials' Pokémon are pulled from a pool of Pokémon specifically bred and trained for this task."

"So there's no variation. Huh."

In other words, standardized testing. The candidates would have to face a generic team of six Pokémon representing different challenges they're expected to overcome. Even the League official is restricted to a standard set of stratagems and commands. In other words, no curve balls; this would be only a slightly-challenging battle for a full-fledged Gym Leader. On the other hand, that meant this was a pass/fail situation. Moral victories wouldn't be enough, the candidates had to win to earn their position.

"How many battles?"

"It's based on a 5 battle regiment, 4 victories needed to pass."

"I see. And the candidates?"

We were looking out over the first of the two occupied arenas. A man, maybe in his late 20s, was just sending out his first Pokémon.

"He's Victor Monarche, from the Fleureille Region. He's attempting to become Montfougere Town's Gym Leader. He's been known to have a diverse team, but has recently tried to specialize in Dragons. He's 1-0 right now."

I watched the man battle for a few minutes. He had dressed handsomely for the occasion, donning a kingly overcoat with gold trim, tassels, and buttons. His demeanor was a little giddy, although I couldn't hear what he was saying. His only recognizable Pokémon was a Deino, which put up a poor showing against a Rhydon. His other Pokémon were unknown to me, which was a surprise. As a former world champion, I had seen my fair share of the world's Pokémon, not just the 485 species endemic to my native Nihon nation.

What appeared to be two mature Dragon types followed, and were also easily beaten. It seemed to me they were poorly commanded and insufficiently trained for this match. Victor was beside himself, before finally resorting to differently-typed Pokémon. A rock-electric monolithic-thing conducted itself well, taking out four Pokémon on its own before being recalled only half-damaged.

"Eh. He's middle-aged, not too interesting. Why did he come all the way here to qualify? Lumiose, or even Castelia, are much closer to Fleureille." Carol shrugged, as puzzled as I was. Growing bored, I strolled to the second window, with another match in progress. Even at this distance and with the arenas' insulation, I could feel shaking coming from the battle. Something seismic was occurring. Leto was already watching the battle- or rather, he had his eyes fixated upon the candidate.

She was in a simple white summer dress and sandals. Her hair was curiously arranged into two short, spiky pigtails that were propped up at an improbable skyward angle. Her demeanor was calm and stoic, deftly commanding her Pokémon through battle. Not un-pretty; Leto certainly was interested.

"She seems familiar," I said aloud, but mainly for Carol's benefit.

"She should be. You already watched her today," my secretary replied.

"Did I?"

"Yes. You asked for a specific match involving her to download onto your phone."

"Really?! Because I'm drawing a blank."

I trust my secretary to be right. I blame the workload for not being to recall this young woman and where I had seen her today. Young! She can't be older than twenty! She's right in that age group that I'm targeting for the Gym Leader revival project. Revival Project. Nice name, I just made that up. Make a mental note on that. Where was I? Oh yeah.

"I give up. Who is she?" I begged of Carol. She handed her tablet to me while explaining.

"Jasmine Mikan. You know, the same Gym Leader who upset Vito Winstrate. You were going to show that battle to Yarld to make a point."

"Oh! OHHH! Do'h! I did show it, and I think it did make a difference, thanks for finding that vid for me. Ah…" I didn't pay much attention to who it was that actually upset Vito. Even in defeat, the big-shot tourney trainers tend to be more memorable than their underdog opponents. "Why is she here then? Shouldn't she already be a Gym Leader?"

"Read," Carol insisted. I turned my attention to the profile on the computer screen, and began reading and commenting aloud.

"Jasmine Mikan, female, age 18… oh, 18, that's young. That's the minimum age for a Gym Leader, isn't it? Oh I see. She's been the acting Gym Leader of Olivine City for the past three years, with her father as legal and financial custodian of the gym. Her situation was sponsored by a senior Gym Leader, so the League was willing to make an exception concerning her underage status; but now that's she's 18 she wants to take full custody of the Gym Leader title. So that's why she's here. Geeze, that makes the victory over Vito that much more impressive- taking down one of the greatest of Hoenn when she was, what, 16? Mmhmm. Hey, cool, she's a Steel-type specialist, like me.

Thank you." I returned the computer to Carol and my attention to the battle.

Our official was using a Fire-based team, one of the standard challenges to type specialists: pit them against their type disadvantage and see if they could adapt. Currently fighting was an Arcanine. I did not see the candidate's Pokémon.

Arcanine was darting around frenetically, as if attacking or retreating from an invisible opponent. At second glance ,the reason for the shadow-boxing became apparent: furls of earth were being plowed to-and-fro, chasing the Fire-type. A Dig attack. Whatever was pursuing the Arcanine from beneath the surface was big, really BIG, judging by the building's shaking.

"Hope the building doesn't fall on top of us," Ned commented.

"I'd die happy," Leto responded.

"What, she your type?"

"What, you don't think she's beautiful?"

"Nah, kind of plain, kind of vanilla. No boobs. What say you Steven?"

"I am a married man, I am not at liberty to discuss other women's attractiveness."

"Keh." Ned and Leto both waved me down. I noticed Carol flinch at the mention of the "M" word.

Our official yelled something out. Arcanine dashed to a hole that had opened in the earth, breathing a searing stream of fire into the gap. It was a trap. All the ground in a ten yard radius of the hole collapsed, half-burying the fire dog. It struggled to break free, uselessly. The Dig wasn't meant to hit the foe, it was to prepare the ground. Clever. The female candidate shouted, still showing no trace of emotion save for cold, hard determination.

**_BRUUMBRUUMBRUUMBRUUM!!!_ **

Woah! I thought the building was shaking before, but now it's rocking and rolling and I'm about to fall off my feet and damn! That's some Earthquake attack! I ended up leaning on the glass for support, steadying myself just in time to watch the Arcanine's health obliterated. A massive Steelix (even larger than usual for its species) emerged from the rubble, roaring mightily in celebration.

"That's win number four for her," Carol stated. "She passed."

The newly-titled Gym Leader finally showed some emotion, or rather, buckets of emotion, as she  jumped for joy. Several of her friends rushed onto the field to embrace her and carry her off. It was a little comical for the official to shout after them, forcing the group to reverse course, as if she were driving her friends like a car. The girl and our official conducted final business like that, then the friends set her down so the two opponents could shake hands.

"See guys? This is precisely what I was talking about. Look at this," I gestured happily towards the field while tapping on the wall computer. Statistics from the battle appeared on the screen. "She had 24 KO's to her own 3. 22 of those KO's were done by only two Pokémon, a Steelix and Magneton. I love it. This is what we're investing in. She is just the kind of trainer I want to lead our next generation."

"He's about to give a speech."

"Uhuh."

Leto and Ned exchanged nods.

"Watching that, I feel vindicated. Gym Leaders are not merely a filtering device. They're so much more than that. They're the face of the League. They're our arbitrators, our emergency responders, our muscle, our conciliators, our ambassadors. When the public thinks of the Pokémon League, they think first and foremost about the eight members of each region that they interact with on a daily basis. If we ensure that we recruit the best possible talent, and then give them the tools to succeed, ten years down the road we will be in an incredible- Hey! Where did you guys go?" I flipped around, to find my male audience halfway to the far exit. "Get back here! Listen to my large-hamminess! Argh!"

Face-palm for dramatic pose.

"At least I still have you," I said, facing Carol.

"I have to stay, I'm your secretary," Carol said softly. Her eyes avoided mine. A sudden, flickering thought passed my mind.

"Don't kid yourself. You _want_ to stay," I told her.

"No I…"

I raised my hand to her cheek, barely caressing it. The petite, mousy-haired lady went still, limp. I stepped closer, till I was practically breathing into her bangs.

"You do hope, don't you? For you and me?" I whispered.

"No… No…"

"What if I said there was hope?"

"Truly?" She looked up, glistening, quivering eyes, the unmistakable signs of adoration. Her head melted further into my touch.

"Ms. Valiér, do you love me?" I asked.

"Ye-" and I put my hand up to her lips and stepped away.

"Don't. Don't say it."

I swiveled on one foot and began adjusting the hem of my sleeves. All pretense of intimacy dropped from my voice.

"It's only a crush, an infatuation, caused by my good looks, my money, my domineering personality, and my position of power. It's a false attraction. You're like a Venomoth to the flame, my dear. I am no good for you. I married my wife because she is the only woman I know who can stomach my arrogance and ego. Indeed, she has an ego to rival my own. Contrary to popular opinion, opposites do not attract. Meaningful relationships are built by commonalities- and, to be blunt, and I am willing to be blunt and hurtful, because that will help you get beyond this crush that much faster- you and I are nothing alike. It would be disastrous to even hope for so much as a pity-fuck. Do you understand?"

"Y-y-yes sir."

"I applaud you for keeping your composure through that."

She is fighting back tears, successfully. Her posture is held high, and she is still ready to listen to orders. She must've known, since the moment we met, that her crush would be unrequited. That foreknowledge is helping her get past this painful, but necessary confrontation.

"Now, focus on your duties. Have a good cry tonight, if you need to, take a few days to curse the unfairness of the world and the pitiful, fickle nature of the human heart. Then turn your affection towards one of the numerous desolate males who litter the world, good-hearted but just a tad too cowardly to ask you out. You'll be so much better in the long run. Now, compile a list of all pending candidates for Gym Leader titles and bring it my office. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I think I can." She paused, as if gathering courage. "I just want-"

"Shh!" I silenced her. "If it's not business related, it need not be said. It will just hurt. See you in a few." I waltzed off down the corridor, leaving my secretary a little pile of mush.

Breaking hearts. It was a habit of mine, and rejecting the poor souls had become a carefully scripted procedure. What I did not tell Carol, what I could not say to her, for fear of playing on what lingering strands of attachment she held for me, was this:

I did like her. She was attractive, in her own way. She was a nice girl. And, most importantly for a man, she was into me. It is one of the most enjoyable feelings for my gender, to be admired, to be loved. It's everything in my willpower to not take advantage of the situation, and not allow myself the pleasure of Carol's body. But, sadly, though rightfully, it was not permissible.

That was the vow I took on my wedding to day, to be faithful to one woman and one woman only- that wonderful, immeasurable, frustrating, exciting, preposterous woman with the platinum bangs.

Oh Cynthia, the joys I sacrifice for my love to you.


	7. The Broken Gun

I live a life of conflictions. While most men had put their childhood behind them, found their plot in life, settled down, I was still out adventuring. Grown men's adventures, to be sure: exploring archeological ruins, unearthing ancient Pokémon fossils; raking in mountains of cash as Devon Corp President- one of the silliest, most fun things I've ever done was a PR stunt, filling a swimming pool to the brim with 1P bills and doing backstrokes through it (harder than you'd imagine).

I developed a style of overpowering Pokémon battling that netted me over two thousand wins and not a single "official" loss, en route to a nigh-mythical _three_ world championships. They only hold the World Championship every four years; that's at least twelve years of my life consumed in perfecting my strategic prowess on the battlefield.

Even now, even as the CEO of the Pokémon League and all its stresses and responsibilities, I was pursuing a childish dream. There are so few humans of my caliber, able to rise up and take greatness by the head. I figured, since there's the opportunity, why not give the world a legend?

Someone was there and took notice of what I was doing. Someone who loved what they saw, was irresistibly attracted to the Man of the Century; and yet, also saw the weakness, the runaway pride, the nagging doubts, the _humanity_ in that legend. She recognized in herself the ability to temper that man, bring him down to earth when his ego had rocketed to the heavens, and assuage his fears when his duties had dragged him through hell. It was a perfect match.

It has taken me 42 years for me to realize what is important in life, and at last the urge to settle down has lodged itself in some deep crevice of my mind.

Why then, was I still working at 8:30 PM? Why was I denying myself precious time with my beloved? I was forty-two, for god's sake, how much longer did I think I had on this Earth?! I had had a late start on true love, and I was still squandering away my life on work- work that might as well be called an arrogant bid for popularity!

I gripped the sheets of paper before me, clutching them so tight I might very well rip them in half. My eyes glanced up, to the far wall.

There it is. The reason for my inane, stubborn refusal to quit this job. It's an awkward ornament, completely out-of-place amongst the geodes and thousand-year-old relics adorning the mantle.

A rifle, shattered in two, its shards carefully set on a cloth, in full view of my seat. My daily reminder of why I took this job- why this job is not merely an ego-trip for me- why I'm willing to sacrifice my own happiness for this job- why I come home at 9:00 P.M. every day, and have to see Cynthia's face contort into a forced smile.

It's a reminder of that one day that changed my view of life, and changed the world of Pokémon battling forever.

 

* * *

 

 Five Years Ago

June 7th, 2004

Castelia, Unova

Two-hundred and twenty-four _thousand_ roaring voices joined in great, unharmonious din. The sound had mass, a solidified, amorphous presence that occupied the vast, enclosed volume of the Unova Monarch Coliseum. Nearly a quarter-million human beings were gathered for the singular purpose of witnessing another grand chapter in the history of Pokémon competition. One could not help but feel awed, in a near-religious sense, by the collective soul of humanity pouring out their affection towards one end.

I was only a speck, indistinguishable amongst so many thousands of specks occupying the East Mid-Level Deck. I bathed in the power of our species. I gloried in it.

This was humanity. This was our world.

This was the Pokémon World Championship.

Or, the Semi-Finals, to be precise. Held once every four years, the Championship is the ultimate competition to decide, without fail, the greatest trainer in the world. Trainers were gathered from all over the world; conquering the Elite Four and then becoming a Regional Champion was a requirement for mere _consideration_ for being invited. Once here, the trainers were ranked and seeded, pitted against each other in preliminary pool rounds. The best 224 were divided into groups of 7 and matched in 3-game round robins. The survivors earned the right to the seeded, single-elimination tournament. No bye-games, no play-ins, no title matches; the previous Champion was given no favors. 32 trainers, 5 rounds, and 31 games later, before a crowd of 224,000 and a television audience of 1.3 _billion,_ a new World Champion would be crowned.

This was the second of the two Semi-Final matches. Needless to say, the atmosphere was thunderous. Monarch Coliseum was over-capacity by 4,000 bodies. The Driftveil Stadium Complex would not be ready for another five years. Nimbasa was the entertainment mecca of the region, but quite frankly, it didn't have the finances to support the 500,000 visitors the event would draw, nor could it seat half of those visitors in its largest stadium. Castelia, while strained, was the only logical choice. Half a million would be a bathtub in a lake as far as accommodation saturation went.  The megalopolis had the resources, the facilities, the services, and the money to support the endeavor, therefore it got the nod.

"It's just grand, isn't it?"

Keido, my colleague and friend, sat beside me. He hadn't been able to secure executive-box-seating, so I volunteered to come out and watch the match with him. We were crowded into the last row, our backs to the wall with the Upper Section hanging directly above us. The two trainers on the field were mere pixels; most everyone around us was paying attention to the courtyard-sized video screen hanging above us. Good thing, too. Even with my off-kilter dress and hat, I was afraid I was going to draw attention to my identity.

I was, after all, the two-time defending World Champion, and had, just this morning, earned my way into the Final Match with a victory over Aliya Morose (Associated Media's Rank #3 in the world). Thankfully, the trainers were lining up and preparing to battle, drawing the crowd's undivided attention and helping me go unnoticed. My conversation with Keido continued while the pair battled to become my future opponent (*coughvictimcough*).

"It's amazing. So many people, all come to see this. It's like… nothing I'd ever seen before."

"Keido, is this your first World Championship?"

"Yeah. It's bigger then I expected."

"I'm surprised. Didn't you compete in 2000?" I asked, mildly surprised.

"Nah, my team wasn't up to par. And I got sidetracked, some crackjob lieutenant had us scouring all over Sinnoh."

"Looker?" I guessed.

"You know the fellow?"

"We've met."

"My condolences," Keido said apologetically, patting my shoulder.

"Hey, they're starting."

Doral Minerva, from the far-away Truembach Region. Ranked #14 in the world by the AM. She let out her signature Pokémon, the very foreign, quadrupedal Electric-Grass Diodefern. Her opponent, #5 ranked Grey Forester, was from Kanto. He led with the blazing canid Arcanine.

"And the Pokémon spring into action!" The announcer broke into full-tilt action mode. "Grey wastes no time in ordering a Crunch attack, while Doral has Diodefern prepare a Thornfield!"

Arcanine, of its own volition, used Flame Charge to avoid the growing mass of thorned vines covering the arena. The Diodefern retreated backwards, but was out-maneuvered. It released Effect Spore, poisoning Arcanine even as the canine chomped down onto its rear hind.

"Who do you want to face?" Keido asked me, pointing between the two trainers.

"Shush! Let them battle and then I'll decide."

"It's not like they'll bring the same Pokémon against you. Aliya didn't use any ghosts against you after she monotyped them against me." Keido had attempted his first foray into the World Championship this year, but had been eliminated early in the group play. I had assumed this was his second foray into the League's highest level, but was mistaken.

"I avenged you, didn't I?" I told him. "Besides, it's less about who they bring to the field, and more about reading their style of battle. See, even now, Doral is very conservative, and prefers to stall. I want to see if she favors pure defense or flow control. I should be able to tell once Grey figures out to switch."

However, Grey was doggedly determined to exploit the favorable type match-up, even if the bark-encrusted Diodefern was proving difficult to burn. His persistence paid off, forcing Doral to retreat first, their encounter leaving the field a giant flaming wreck. Haxorus appeared, in time to take a Crunch attack. Arcanine bit down deeply into its skin.

"Hmm. Fascinating."

"What is?" Keido asked.

I pointed to the Haxorus, now circling and waving its bladed-incisors.

"That Crunch would snap yours or mine arm clean in half. Yet, it doesn't even break the skin of another Pokémon. The same is true for Haxorus: the same ax-swing that might hurt Arcanine a little would decapitate a human. Pokémon are shockingly resilient, don't you think?"

"I knew that. Else, you think it'd be right to have them battle each other, if they got hurt so easily?" Keido mused. He crossed his arms. "Imagine a world where a Fire Blast was as dangerous as TNT. No more battles, no more entertainment, the very fabric of our society falls apart. Besides, not even the strongest Pokémon can seriously injure another in one hit."

"Well, no, there are Pokémon that strong. The Pokémon here are on the fringe," I argued. "Remember Loft? They say he was forced to retire, because his Pokémon could slip up and level a stadium."

"Mmhmm. But his were freaks of nature."

"He only trained them harder than anyone else. I think it could be replicated."

"He was before computers, there's no telling how much of those stories were exaggeration and rumor."

"My point being, Pokémon, in the wrong hands, are dangerous, amazing creatures."

"That they are," Keido finally conceded, growing tired of the debate. "It's up to guys like you and me and Goodshow to keep them out of the wrong hands."

"Goodshow… ha…" Cue dry laugh.

The Arcanine finally succumbed to the combined damage of the poison and a barrage of Dragon Claws and Dragon Rushes. The crowd was on their feet, excited by the last, chaotic melee of tooth and claw, blazing fur and hardened scale. A cheer went up for the first Knock Out of the match. Doral's fan section was exploding.

"Nuisance," Grey Forester muttered. He gritted his teeth and stared Doral down. His gaze had less than friendly connotations. His hands, shaking, thumbed through his five remaining Pokéballs.

"Scizor!" he called, letting out his best counter to the Dragon-typed Haxorus. The battle quickly recommenced.

Even as I tried to concentrate on the technicalities of the match, I was drawn in by the sheer power displayed by each Pokémon. There was an underlying feeling of worry and stress to my interest. A glance left told me Keido was on edge too. Team Rocket's recent power-bid must've affected our mindset more than I cared to admit. Their vision of competition amounted to little more than uncivilized, cock-fighting gambling rackets. Had they been in charge, there was no knowing how badly things would have turned out. Surely, they would feel no such need for the Alakazam stationed on the field, using its psychic powers to keep the battle within the arena's confines. Heck, they might even want to spice the battlefield up with, say, flamethrowers and buzz-saws.

Doral retreated Haxorus, and began switch-dancing between a Hatchequin and Master Mime. The battle shifted gears, each trainer belting out orders in reaction to one another's words, rather than the realities on the field. They trusted their Pokémon to execute as ordered, and that the opponent would do the same. It was up to the trainer to arrange the tactics to allow his or her Pokémon to succeed. In this, Doral was gaining the upper hand. Her guerilla tactics successfully KO'd Crobat, Scizor, Nidoking, and Rhyperior over the course of twenty minutes. Grey, growing increasingly frustrated, was down to his last Pokémon.

"Is there a mercy rule? Seriously!" a short-shaved man sitting beside us yelled out. The crowd around us voiced similar opinions of the match. It had become one-sided. The public was split between those enjoying the upset, and those wishing for a closer game. Doral was putting on quite the entertaining show, as if toying with her opponent. I caught a couple in front of us saying Mrs. Minerva could actually be favored to win the Final Match against me.

Keido and I couldn't be bothered with Doral's success, however. A knowing glance passed between us.

Grey was unraveling.

As his tactics broke down and his roster depleted, he was being wracked for options. He abandoned good tactics in favor of riskier, more reckless attacks. For instance, his Rhyperior had charged straight in with a Horn Drill, only to miss completely and become victim of a Swagger and Barrier Box. It thrashed about, hurting itself while posing no threat to the Master Mime. At last, exhausted, it was finished off by a middling Psychic attack. The others had fallen to similarly ignominious fates.

Grey Forester- a respected man. Almost uptight, extremely politic around the press. He had the air of a professional's professional, one who treated Pokémon competition like a high-stakes business. His battle style was very much offense-based, preferring to attack fast and hard. He favored close combat situations, and most of his strategy revolved around cornering the opponent and weakening their defenses. He relied on Taunt to counter enemy tricks.

Unfortunately, he matched up badly against Doral's finesse. When Rhyperior went down, he threw his headset across the field in anger, and then bullied away assistants trying to calm him down.

So much ego, so much unreserved pride and entitlement. Here is a man who hates, to his very soul, HATES losing. I recalled the Semi-Finals pregame hype videos. "Perfection". "Machine". "Goliath". Terms used to describe Grey's relentless pursuit of the title. This was the year he was supposed to come into his own, where everything aligned. He was the man who would dethrone Pokémon's Godking; the trainer who could finally end the monotonous reign that was Steven Stone.

He wouldn't even get the chance. Someone else was going to win and go on to challenge me for the title. He couldn't handle that, and it was killing him. He paced the sideline, smarting, silently yelling and cursing the sky. It took an angry confrontation with the official to get him to continue the match. Even then, he was slumped over, a grimace on his face and shaking.

It was ugly. Unsightly.

"I haven't seen such poor sportsmanship… ever." Keido remarked.

"I'm worried," I replied.

"About what?"

"I don't know, exactly."

An assistant offered a new headset to Grey, who ripped it out of the former's hands. He adjusted the set while staring down the major culprit of his undoing, the Master Mime.

"Aerodactyl!" he cried, letting out his final Pokémon.

"Doral's speed advantage so far won't help her now! Grey's Aerodactyl recently broke the world record for the fastest of its species! But is it strong enough, and does it have the movepool to pull off a miraculous comeback?!" the announcer bellowed. A wave of cries sounded out from the crowd. They cared more for a close match than whoever would win.

"Master Mime, spe-"

"Double-Edge!" Grey ordered in a vicious scream, cutting off his opponent's command. Doral reeled, and began to repeat her command-

Before she could utter another syllable, before Master Mime, having turned its head to its master, could refocus on its opponent, it was over. Aerodactyl whipped past in a sharp arc, having cleaved through its opponent. The crowd gasped.

For all their resiliency, Pokémon aren't immune to harm. And with a blindingly fast, strong Pokémon attacking a physically-weak foe at full power- it was not going to leave a mere bruise. Master Mime clutched its abdomen, a six-inch cut gashed horizontally across it.

The scoreboard marked Master Mime down, without even waiting to see if the Pokémon could still fight. That wound was certain to require medical attention, and that automatically disqualified the Pokémon from battle.

Aerodactyl had broken a code. Pokémon should not be attacking so aggressively as to draw blood. But it did. Unfortunately, it was only a gentleman's code, not a legally-binding rule, so Grey was going to get away with it. It makes me sick to the stomach.

"Master Mime is taken down in a single blow! How will Doral respond?"

"Diodefern, go! Vine Wrap, then Thunderwave!"

Aerodactyl didn't even wait for the Pokémon to get its bearings. It zoomed in, delivering a fatal Wing Attack not two seconds after Diodefern materialized. The already-weakened Electric-Grass went down in one blow.

"That's right. This is the way it's supposed to be," Grey muttered through the mic, more to himself than the crowd. "Those who have trained the hardest and who have prepared the hardest and who have become the strongest win. It's the nature of things. I can't be stopped by… cowardly, pissant little tactics. Aerodactyl!"  Aerodactyl screeched, causing many audience members to cling to their ears. "Attack! Attack with all you've got! Show them who's the strongest!"

Doral released Haxorus, this time closer to herself. Apparently forewarned, it immediately brandished its blades into the air. Aerodactyl wheeled and dived. Haxorus, holding its ground, warded off the flurry of Crunches, Double-Edges, and Wing Attacks. The heavy ring of bone upon bone rang out, splitting the air. Each time Haxorus parried, Aerodactyl pitched into the air. Haxorus would swipe as fast as it could, faster than the human eye could follow, but it couldn't catch the retreating Aerodactyl.

"Aerodactyl, Earth and Air combo!" Grey ordered.

The flyer dove straight towards its opponent. Its wings flashed forwards, releasing a whirling vortex. The vortex spun around a thin, invisible vertical line, which moved towards Haxorus. An Air Slash. At the same time, Aerodactyl impacted the ground, sending out invisible seismic waves. The ground shivered, indicating an Earthquake attack streaking towards its foe. The combo was perfectly timed: both attacks would reach Haxorus at the same time.

"Split it! Duel Chop!" Doral yelled as soon as she saw Aerodactyl first move. Haxorus braced itself, awaiting the incoming combo attack. At the last moment, it brought down its claws, cracking the ground and sundering the air with a vacuum. Both of Aerodactyl's attacks were disrupted, the waves diverging harmlessly around Haxorus.

Time elapsed since Grey ordered the attack: 3.75 seconds. The speed with which the battle was executed astounded even me.

"Don't let up!" Grey shouted. Aerodactyl was far ahead of its trainer, already gliding low in a circle around Haxorus, just out of reach. Its wingtips slashed at the earth, kicking up rock fragments and jagged spikes. Stone Edges burst, like percussive nails, from the ground, crisscrossing Haxorus' position. It chopped and dodged, but it wasn't able to avoid all of the spikes. Several of them grazed its flank.

"Haxorus!" Doral cried.

Her Pokémon struggled free of the Stone Edge protrusions, though not without taking additional damage.

"Now!" Grey cried.

"Intercept!" Doral countered.

Haxorus judged as best it could, and spin-jumped forward, head over feet. Its tail swung downwards, landing exactly where Aerodactyl was headed-

-but the creature changed direction at the literal last tenth-second. Haxorus' battering-ram-tail gashed the earth-

-and was instantly whipped sideways, counter-counter-attacking the incoming Aerodactyl-

-only to be blocked by another Stone Edge. Aerodactyl spun in an impossibly tight circle, avoiding the secondary swing of Haxorus' incisors. Grey's Pokémon barrel-rolled, coming back for a third and final pass.

"Ooooh!" The crowd gasped as Aerodactyl's claws took a hold of Haxorus' skull and slammed it into the dirt. It followed up with a pair of Wing Attacks for good measure, before retreating from the flailing arm claws of its wounded opponent. This engagement had finished within 3.5 seconds. Too fast for even the trainers to give input; the Pokémon were relying on their own instincts.

"Aerodactyl! Finish it! Hyper Beam!"

" _AEEERRAAAAAAWWW_!!!" Particles of intense, white-hot energy filled Aerodactyl's mouth. It soared overhead, well out of reach of Haxorus, who was still struggling to its feet.

"Recall!"

The field erupted into a billowing ash cloud. Bits of large rubble were flung through the air, threatening to pelt the audience before being intercepted by the League's Alakazam.

From the rising smoke, a figure emerged. Grey squinted, before taking a step back in disbelief. Aerodactyl screeched in rage.

The Ghost-Psychic type, an eerie puppet-like creature native to the Truembach region, Hatchequin, had been switched in the second before Hyper Beam erupted. Aerodactyl's attack and the subsequent explosion had passed harmlessly through it.

"Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT! CRUNCH!" Hatchequin lay down a Reflect before being exchanged for yet another Pokémon, Conkeldur. The brutish Fighting-type took the Crunch on its right forearm, gritting through the pain, and nailed Aerodactyl across the head with its left fist. Aerodactyl reeled backwards, not feeling pain so much as concussive stupefaction. It became incensed. Its eyes glared at Conkeldur, and one could imagine a crimson hue coloring their pupils.

"Air and Fire!"

Another combo, this time Air Cutter and Fire Fang. Conkeldur was exchanged for Haxorus, who resisted the combo easily enough.

Hyper Beam fell upon Hatchequin. Stone Edge was broken apart by Haxorus' Earthquake.

"Doral… what are you doing?" I thought out loud. "Are you not capable of finishing this?!"

She either couldn't, or didn't want to. Her Pokémon never took the offensive. Every time Aerodactyl lined up for another onslaught, she switched to an appropriate counter. Grey and his Pokémon could make no headway- and with each failure to land a blow, the pair of them descended further into chaotic rage.

"Earth and Fire!" Grey ordered. Aerodactyl roared, ignoring its trainer. It whisked through the air, trying to faze the Hatchequin with a Wing Attack. A 45° angle Reflect allowed the Hatchequin to dodge the attack and safely switch into Haxorus again.

Similar results followed on the next switch.

"Aerodactyl is… blinded by rage," Keido observed. He was gripping the armrests of his seat, and white in the face. I nodded, also stuck in a state of fearful tension.

"Aerodactyl?! AERODACTYL! FINISH IT ALREADY!!! BEAT HER OR GO DOWN ALREADY!!!" Mr. Forester raged.

His Pokémon Screeched- an actual attack, but directed at its owner. Grey fell to his knees, deafened.

This was getting bad. Doral's face appeared on the screen, and it became apparent why she wasn't ordering her Pokémon to finish the match: she was afraid. She wasn't daring to expose her Pokémon to the mad creature's assaults. As evidence, an Air Cutter cracked the ground, slicing well past the dodging Haxorus and nearly to the edge of the arena. Alakazam's temple bulged, barely containing the violence. Yet, given the chance, the newly switched in Conkeldur never struck out, but only backed itself into a defensive position.

Even Grey, now unable to control his Aerodactyl, was lit up with an unholy mixture of fear and livid rage. He whipped out his pokeball and attempted to recall the out-of-control Pokémon.

What came next…

A Hyper Beam, aimed directly at Grey, from his own Pokémon, dispersed the pokeball's capture-beam and crashed upon the human in a brilliant explosion.

" _ZAM_!"

The Alakazam, perched upon a dais in the north-central perimeter, had its arm crossed in a gesture of psychic warding. It took all it had to hold the Hyper Beam from annihilating Grey.

Conkeldur, finally seeing an opening, barged forward. Too slow, just as Doral feared.

Aerodactyl flipped skyward to dodge the Drain Punch, and immediately earthwards, crashing into Conkeldur's back. It gripped the foe in its claws and spun around, violently throwing Conkeldur to the ground. Seconds passed, but it did not pick itself up. Another beam bore down upon it.

It's already fainted. This Hyper Beam might seriously injure it! What is Grey thinking?!

He's not thinking, he's not even in control anymore. He's cowering there on his hands and knees.

"Shit."

"I know." Keido and I rose as one.

The Alakazam lit up, psychic energy coalescing and dispersing off its brow. It was at its limit, harming itself to put a Light Screen up between the Hyper Beam and Conkeldur.

"That's enough!" Doral unleashed all three of her remaining Pokémon at once. Officials began rushing towards the field.

"Trainer, recall your Pokémon!" the ref pleaded.

Grey shivered, not listening.

"It's no use," he was saying, though no one heard him.

Aerodactyl wheeled skyward. No Pokémon should be able to fire consecutive Hyper Beams without resting, but Aerodactyl did so. Undoubtedly, it was suicide; its own cells would be breaking down from the strain of boundless energy being released through them.

Aerodactyl let loose another Air Cutter at the unconscious form of Conkeldur. Alakazam was fairly radiating life-energy now. The Air Cutters bounced off an invisible shield, barely blocked by Alakazam's efforts.

Aerodactyl sniffed, looking to its prey, and then to the glowing Psychic type. Comprehension lit up in its eyes.

"No."

The flying fossil screeched, piercing the air. It vanished in a flurry of vision-distorting gales.

I was staring right at the spot, and to this day, that .04 seconds will always haunt me-

Alakazam's head, decapitated from its body, spiraling through the air.

It was a single, murderous Double-Edge attack.

"Arceus- no," I whispered.

Everything seemed to slow down. The following minute seemed suspended, crystal clear, yet impossible to control or comprehend. Like an old, black and white abstract movie.

Doral's Pokémon formed a barrier between themselves and their fallen comrade. Aerodactyl roared, letting off another Air Cutter, damaging Haxorus but not fatally. It was unable to finish off its chosen adversary.

Aerodactyl screeched. It roared. It hounded the air with its terrible, terrible cry.

And then, in its ultimate frustration, it let loose a Hyper Beam into the stands. The beam zigzagged its way across the crowd, leaving behind a blinding white fireball.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Eight times it fired randomly, blindly, aiming for anything that moved.

Its own cries were now eclipsed by the screams of humans. Two-hundred-thousand people yelled in panic, cowered, stampeded. Dazed figures, blood dripping from their brows, stumbled out from the smoke.

Keido bounded across seat-tops, headed towards the nearest impact. He stopped before one of the injured, at a complete loss on how to tend to their grievous wound.

I rushed, as if driven by some surreal and compelling force, to the forward balcony.

People were everywhere. People were screaming in my face. Men were jumping up in their seats. Women covered their eyes and mouths. Children stared blankly at their parents. Babies were crying. I remember that, vividly: a child of no more than two years wriggling in its stroller, bawling its lungs out.

League Officials scrambled about, most unsure of what to do. Dots of the blue uniform stood out everywhere, swamped, uselessly struggling against the tide of the crowd.

I reached the edge of the balcony and looked down upon the field.

Aerodactyl, at last reaching its limit, had landed upon the square. Enfeebled, it still growled and snapped. Grey, its master, was slowly reaching for his pokeball. Aerodactyl must've seen him, must've comprehended, and began crawling, haltingly, towards the man. It was frightening, being able to so instinctually read the murderous intent in the Pokémon's every sound, every movement.

I reached for my pokeball. I could end this. I could use my Pokémon…

_CHT-CHT._

 A ratcheting sound came from my immediate right. I jerked my head in that direction.

A security officer stood overlooking the balcony, fifteen feet away. My eyes widened as I realized what he was doing.

"N-!"

**_BANG!_ **

The rifle exploded, louder than the Pokémon, louder than the crowd, loud enough to echo across the whole of the arena.

Aerodactyl flopped to the earth like a limp rag.

 

* * *

 

124 people.

Human beings.

Wives, children, sons.

Doctors, iron molders, daycare workers.

Happy faces, innocent hearts, normal individuals, the same as you and I, the same as one's family, friends, gathered by luck, chance, purpose, to this spot, on this day, only wanting to enjoy a Pokémon battle.

 

124.

Dead.

 


	8. Rival Battle

The buzzing of a silenced cell phone stirred me from my stupor.

"Hello?"

"Steve! Where are you? It's ten past, I was expecting you on the floor!"

"Don't call me Steve. Ugh," I held my head. Had memory lane lured me into a nap? I checked the clock on my cell, which read 9:06. Keido's watch must be fast.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right down."

There was still a mind-numbing amount of work scattered across my desk. Not doing it now would mean stretching my half-day Saturday into a full workday. No matter. I need someone to talk to, intimately, preferably not someone I'm sexually or emotionally invested in (meaning not my wife). Hell, I haven't taken vacation since starting this job; getting off "only" three hours late would be a justified guilty pleasure tonight.

I tidied the office up and began to leave. For the first time, I noticed how large and empty the office appeared. Each footstep sounded unnaturally loud. It was this cheap, thin flooring they built, even a casual gait makes the place shake a little. I took one last look at my work space, lingering upon the broken rifle on the mantle piece.

"Good riddance," I muttered, locking the door, killing the lights, and leaving.

The halls were empty of office workers. An office door here and there remained lit, evidence of another unseen work-addict putting in overtime. The few humans I did see were janitors, lugging along cleaning carts and trash bags between rooms. None of them gave me a second glance. I smiled; it's reassuring to be a nobody to at least somebody.

"Hmm. Hall #1, did we say?" I mumbled to myself.

The battle arena looked larger from the ground floor. You could set four basketball courts in a square and have room for a nice crowd around the edge. There was no seating, of course, as these arenas weren't intended for spectator-games. The ground was flat, compact earth, minimally chalked- just the sidelines and the universal pokeball outline in the center. Two mats, sitting opposite sides of the field, designated the trainers' area.

Keido was pacing the center, gazing off into the ceiling. Scoping out the room, or contemplating the nature of the universe, I couldn't tell.

"Hey," I shouted out to him.

"Oh! Hey! Steven!"

He met me at the sideline.

"How'd the day treat you?"

"Busy," I said, thinking it the most succinct description of the last twelve hours. It wasn't a bad day, by no means: there were actually a lot of upsides. Still, nothing that hadn't taken a lot of gut-wrenching work to get. "A lot of boring politics, nothing worth talk about."

"Really? No juicy bits? Like where the new money's going?" His voice perked, a little more than curiosity driving his question. How a rank-and-file employee like him had gotten word of the television windfall, I didn't really want to know. I shook my head in response to his question. That kind of information was off-limits.

"Your job is way more fun, let's talk about it instead," I told him, attempting a diversion.

"Nah, I'll pass," he said, waving me off. "Besides, we can talk anytime. I didn't call you down here just to gab-"

"Keido, I'm really not feeling up to-"

"Stunfisk! Don't feed that Tauros-shit to me! I don't ever get to see you these days, I want, nay, DEMAND my annual rivalry match!" He made a mock face of fierce determination. I smirked.

This little tradition of ours was extremely important to him. Each year we held a battle, no matter what. Even if it meant Keido had to fly 8,000 miles across the globe to hit me up on New Year's Eve. It means more to him than me, honestly. He's got just as much of a competitive streak as me; hates losing, demands rematches, can't acknowledge inferiority to anyone, etc etc. Unfortunately he isn't quite as good as me. Our record is something like 24-3-1 in my favor; and even then those three losses and one tie were back in our college days, and not on my official record. It just eats him up that he hasn't been able to win once since I entered the pros.

"Fine, fine let's get this over with. Make it quick, 3v3," I offered off-handedly, but found a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"4v4 double-battle," Keido said, grinning. With his other hand he held up his four pokeballs, one between each finger- all Ultra Balls.  Someone's acting cocky, I thought. "And no half-assing it. I want to beat you at full-throttle."

"It's not like we're on the record here," I countered.

"Hey, this is between friends and rivals, I'm not out to trash your shiny record, I just want this for me. So promise me you won't skimp."

"Alright. Fine, fine. Here, I need something at stake in order to care. Loser buys drinks," I suggested.

"Sounds good. Anyways, it'll be no big loss coming from your account," Keido taunted. I chuckled at the tasteless income joke. You could always count on Keido to prod into sensitive issues. One should not befriend him if one has thin skin.

"Got it. Let's rumble."

He swaggered over to the other side of the field, while I checked the arena's security system. Ever since the tragedy, all League battlefields were required to be equipped with energy shields - stronger, cheaper, and less vulnerable than a Psychic-type ward-Pokémon. The shields at Indigo HQ were modern Cosmic Mk. VI designs: the best mass-produced unit money could buy. A quick diagnostics revealed the machines were functioning and at full power. Nothing was left to deter this rivalry match from commencing.

Keido waved a hand to me indicating he was ready.

Good thing I decided to bring my team to work today. I picked four of them out, choosing the most powerful over any kind of strategic synergy. Quick taps returned the balls to functional size, and the icons lit up with compressed symbols, showing me the status of the occupant. Everything was ready.

"Let's see what you got this year," I bellowed out.

"Ohoho, you won't see a thing," my friend responded. He flipped the first two out in unison, without calling their names. There was an incandescent flash, but after it faded, nothing remained.

I only sensed that my foe was already in place and ready to battle. Where they were, or how they had disappeared, I could not tell.

"Metagross, Tyranitar, fish these ninja's out," I ordered, letting loose my two strongest Pokémon at once. At the moment, I'm feeling a little cocky myself, thinking I could end this quickly if I go all-out from the start.

From there, the battle quickly swung into action.

"Bug Buzz, weak-side," Keido ordered. Something stirred on the field, a blur that could barely be seen. A disconcerting drone filled the air. Visible waves of sound rippled across the arena- heading for Tyranitar.

"It's Accelgor. Meta."

Metagross reinforced himself with a Light Screen and dove in front of Tyranitar, protecting the latter from the brunt of the attack. Tyranitar busied himself cracking the earth with his feet and tail, crushing it into a find powder and bellowing hot air into the resulting dust pile: basically using his Sandstream ability to whip up a Sandstorm.

"Where is the bug?" I asked myself.

I eyed the corners of the arena, looking for momentary flashes of the opposing Accelgor. It had to be an Accelgor, of course. The way Bug Buzz sounded indicated a synergistic yield, meaning it was a Bug Pokémon; and the red Doppler shift indicated that the attacker was using sheer speed to move quicker than the eye was able to follow, creating the illusion of invisibility. Only three Bug-type Pokémon could do that, and Keido had spent the last few years in Unova. Thus, my quick conclusion that I was facing an Accelgor.

But where is his other Pokémon?

And how do I slow Accelgor enough to see the speedster, let alone hit it?

"Bug Buzz!" It came again. Metagross moved to shield Tyranitar again, but the attack came from directly overhead, hitting them both.

"Dang."

Keido kept his eyes focused squarely on my Pokémon. Expert trainer, wasn't he? I can't trace his Pokémon's location by following his gaze. Too bad for me. He opened his mouth.

"Bug Buzz!" Metagross reached behind him and dragged Tyranitar, bulk and all, below his own body. The Bug Buzz washed over them, doing minimal damage. By now the sandstorm was in full force, making it difficult to make out the field, let alone the speeding Accelgor. Perhaps it was a mistake to set up Sandstream...

"Rock Slide. Psychic. Omni-where."

I ordered the random attacks on purpose. They would be dodged by Accelgor easily enough, but I wasn't too concerned about hitting it. Metagross could eat a dozen of the attacks with no real damage to his stamina. What worried me was the other hidden Pokémon.

Unfortunately, not a sound nor a sight showed any other presence on the battlefield.

"Hey Keido, you DO have two Pokémon out on the field?" I asked.

"What, you think I'm stupid enough to face you 2v1?"

"No, just arrogant enough."

"Bah! You'll never see it coming. Bug Buzz!"

"Meta!"

Too slow.

This one hit Tyranitar, who groaned under the vibrations. Keido was picking on Tar's weakness, but the damage was thankfully limited. The sandstorm was disrupting the sonic waves and reinforcing Tyranitar's special defense.

"Metagross, Levitate, then Tyranitar, Earthquake."

Metagross lifted himself into the air, and for good measure, drifted away from the soon-to-be epicenter.

Which played right into Keido's hands.

" _Dusk_!" Out of literally _thin air_ a Dusknoir appeared, inches from Tyranitar. It raised both hands, even as Tyranitar brought his own down to initiate the Earthquake.

" _GROROORG_!" The Earthquake rattled the field. Dusknoir had clutched Tyranitar by the shoulders, lifting itself off the ground to avoid the Ground-attack. For something so fat and slow, it was surprisingly dexterous. It used its leverage to back-flip into the center of the field. A blur and a shadow passed before it, and then Dusknoir was gone, vanished back into thin air.

Tyranitar was left reeling.

"Tar, turn towards me. Meta, guard his back!"

My Pokémon obeyed. It was as I suspected: Tyranitar's chest area was smoldering black. Dusknoir had left him with a Will-o-Wisp burn.

"Resorting to guerilla warfare since you can't beat me upfront. You know I resent those kinds of tactics," I said to Keido. He chortled.

"Gotta play to my strengths."

Tyranitar, still standing tall, but clutching his chest, turned back to the fight.

"You're right. Time to play to mine."

Somehow I need to draw these guys out.

"Bug Buzz!" Metagross, as trained, acted on his own. Even as sonic waves rippled through the Sandstorm, Tyranitar was covered head-to-toe in a wall of sand. The impromptu shield lessened the damage considerably.

"What? How?" Keido let out.

I shrugged. No use explaining Metagross' psychic manipulation abilities to him.

"Hey guys, I think I got it. Rambo-combo, edge-style," I said.

My two Pokémon nodded.

Metagross glowed, releasing psycho-magnetic energy. A Telekinesis lifted Tyranitar into the air as he curled into a ball. Bits of his stone-hard hide had begun morphing, lengthening into blunt spikes. At the same time, the Pokémon began spinning. Once up to speed, Metagross began using Telekinesis to sling Tyranitar around the field. It was as if a massive ball-and-chain was unleashed on the battlefield, splitting the air and furrowing the ground in great large swathes. A direct hit would devastate anything it impacted upon.

"Dusknoir, Dusknoir, come out and meet your maker!"

Even more awesome than a Telekinetic-spiked ball of doom? One that shoots Rock Slides, Stone Edges, and Earthquakes.

To properly describe the battlefield at the moment, I would have to use the word "fragged".

Nonetheless, Dusknoir did not appear.

"So he's not invisible," I mused to myself.

"Bug Buzz!"

This time it was aimed at Metagross; obviously a futile attempt to break his concentration. Metagross has four brains, however, and only needs one each to maintain the Rambo Bowling Ball and put up a Light Screen.

"You're only using…" I started to utter, before cutting myself off.

I see. Accelgor, fast as he was, shouldn't be able to dodge the hailstorm of stone shards now encompassing the arena. The force-fields were now pinging like a swimming pool under a hailstorm, for all the hits they were taking. How was Accelgor not flinching under such a barrage, let alone fainting?

It's because it's Choice Scarfed. Brilliant idea. Put a restrictive, speed-boosting item on one of the fastest Pokémon alive to make it faster than a photon particle. Great idea.

Sarcasm aside, it did mean the Accelgor apparently dodged every single piece of debris now torrenting through the air.

"Metagross, bring him in before Tyranitar faints."

I hadn't forgotten about the burn.

"Finally." Keido made a slashing motion.

Another blur, and Dusknoir appeared, mere inches behind Metagross. My Pokémon instinctively reached out, attempting to clobber the Pokémon. Dusknoir phased through it, and was readying a Will-o-Wisp in its own fist. Tyranitar barreled in, practically vaulting over Metagross and literally eating the ball of ghost-fire.

"Drain Punch!" Keido ordered.

"Tackle!" I ordered.

Keido nearly laughed. Dusknoir hit Tyranitar square in the stomach, rust-colored whorls of energy pulling strength from the victim to the aggressor. Tyranitar responded by belly-flopping onto the ghost. His arms enclosed the bulky Ghost-type, smothering it. Damage was non-existent, but it was enough for Tyranitar's innate Dark-nature to pin the Pokémon down.

"Bug Buzz!"

"Light Screen." It wasn't an order for Metagross, just a statement of fact. The Screen set up earlier took the edge off the Bug Buzz. Metagross knew what to do as soon as I ordered the tackle. Just for show, I yelled it out anyways: "Zen Headbutt!"

"What's that got to…?" Keido mused, and then stood still, eyes widened. Metagross lay calm and collected, before drawing himself up and lunging straight forward - at Tyranitar.

"You'll only hurt your own…" his words trailed off.

Metagross slammed into Tyranitar, a sickening crunch sounding out.

"Dark-type, silly," I said. The Zen Headbutt had passed straight through Tyranitar without harming him, thanks to his Dark-typing. The same could not be said for the Ghost-type Dusknoir on the other side of Tyranitar's bulk. The Pokémon flinched back several feet, both hurt and stunned momentarily.

"Finish him off," I ordered. "Tar, you're burned, hurl Meta."

" _TRAR_!" Tyranitar lifted Metagross and flung him high into the air. Metagross glowed red-hot - the makings of a Meteor Mash. It rocketed earthward, aiming for Dusknoir with no chance of missing.

"Bug… no, wait, save Dusk!"

Accelgor, and it was an Accelgor, appeared for the first time. It blipped into existence for a mere moment, right over Dusknoir's hunched form. Then the both of them were gone. The Meteor Mash cratered the earth a half-second later. A large plume of dust and ash lifted into the air, glassed-sand splattering out in every direction.

"Whah?"

I was besides myself. That had to be a KO! Accelgor couldn't just lift its ally away, just like that, could it? No, it couldn't, not if it wanted to maintain its faster-than-the-naked-eye velocity, which evidently it was, because I couldn't see it anywhere.

"Drain Punch."

Dusknoir appeared behind the exhausted Tyranitar, just long enough to hit him and gain back the health lost to Zen Headbutt. Then it was gone again.

"Hmm."

Tyranitar was on his last sliver of health.

"Recall." I brought him back. There was no use keeping him out. He'd go down to the next Bug Buzz, and I couldn't think of anything more he could do. I don't want to needlessly sacrifice him; at least not before I figure out how this bloody annoying Dusknoir was playing light speed pika-boo.

"Who's coming out? Whatever, I don't want to wait. Burn the Metagross while he's switching."

" _Meta_." Metagross responded accordingly. It rammed the earth, busting the surface and creating a deep crater. The effect of it was to instantly encircle Metagross in a ring of stone. Dusknoir appeared for an instant, decided it had lost its approach, and then was swept away.

"Wait." 'Swept away'. There was a definite movement this time. The ghost had acted like it was being yanked backwards when it vanished. This meant something. What, exactly? "Cradily."

The prehistoric sea-flower appeared onto the battlefield. Her pale orbed eyes began scanning the battlefield for threats, even as her tendrils began probing the floor, feeling the traction and density of the clay.

"Metagross, hang back and start using Hone Claws. Cradily, Barrier." I want to figure something out, which required baiting Keido.

"Toxic." Dusknoir appeared again, from long range.

"Sludge Bomb," I ordered Cradily. Toxic was faster and more accurate, but it was still stopped short by the massive clod of sludge being hurled into its path. The Sludge Bomb absorbed the toxic stream and churned on. Dusknoir was too slow on its own to dodge.

It didn't need to. The instant before Sludge Bomb collided with it, Dusknoir vanished again. The blob splattered across the field.

"Giga Drain the impact," I belted out. Cradily did so, letting off yellow spheres of energy to sap into the ground where Dusknoir had been. I was hoping I'd see the familiar green spheres of life returning to Cradily. Alas, nothing followed. This ruled out the possibility that Dusknoir was turning invisible, or that it was hiding inside the ground, phased, as only ghosts could.

"Bug Buzz."

"Still scarfed. Sandstorm will protect Cradily." As was the case. The attack came from very close, and slightly to the side. Cradily braced for the sonic buzzing to hit, absorbing the attack as best she could. Between her innate defense and the Sandstorm, and her natural Bug weakness, the attack was neither fatal nor trivial. I couldn't let Accelgor continue to assault my Pokémon forever.

"Cra-"

Dusknoir appeared, practically on top of Cradily. A buzzing noise faded into the distance. The ghost put one hand on top of Cradily's bulbous shell. There was no avoiding the ensuing Toxic spewing out of the attacker's hand.

There was, however, a chance for retaliation.

"Gravity." Metagross roared, unleashing a purple-tinged shockwave across the floor. It passed under Dusknoir and Cradily, causing the both of them to drop to their… I would say knees, but neither of them possessed such appendages. Regardless, the two Pokémon were hugging the floor. Metagross had even acted fast enough to prevent the Toxic from touching Cradily.

"Cradily, Sludge Bomb! Metagross, focus harder!" A powerful enough Gravity could pin the Pokémon in place. Cradily exerted herself, lifting her face inch-by-inch to face Dusknoir.

"Christmas!" Keido cried from the far side of the field. The buzzing rose again, its rising frequency indicating the Accelgor was approaching at high speeds. There was a blur of activity.

" _CRAAAA_!" Cradily hurled another blob of poison into Dusknoir. Yet… it wasn't there. Again.

I was taken aback- and then blinked again.

Dusknoir hadn't vanished, only jumped away at the last second. Yes, even with the Gravity in full effect, it had suddenly lifted itself off the ground and jumped backwards. I had been so sure it was pinned down, and so focused on that one spot, that when it did move, I failed to notice it had only run away, not simply disappeared into thin air like before.

"Metagross, Psychic." Dusknoir hop-scotched around the peripheral of the center of action. It saw Metagross light up, preparing an attack. Yet, it didn't counter with its own.

"Protect!" Accelgor leapt in front of Dusknoir, bearing the Psychic on its own. A slight sheen covered its outline, which then flared into a bright violet hue, tendrils of energy dancing off its body like flames.

"Christmas… sounds like a code-word. Hey Keido, you didn't tutor Trick to that thing, did you?!" I called over the field.

"Maybe," came his sly reply.

Damn it! Since when did Keido get this good?! Only top, and I mean TOP-tier trainers were capable of tutoring moves onto Pokémon that they weren't usually compatible with. Trick on an Accelgor is one such "impossible" combination. Damn.

" _Dusk_!"

"How'd he use Trick while Scarfed?" I put to him. Keido shrugged in response.

"Willpower," he answered.

"Tauros-shit."

He understandably failed to address that one.

Dusknoir has the Choice Scarf now.

Which is also why Accelgor was visible for more than a second, for the first time in the match. Its movements were now slow enough to follow, with difficulty, with the naked eye.

"Flash!"

Dusknoir complied, lighting up the area around him. Hardly necessary, with the Sandstorm half-blinding everyone, but when the glow faded neither Dusknoir nor Accelgor were to be seen.

"Okay. Accelgor is trading items with Dusky… maybe it's also lending it speed, somehow. That's how Dusknoir is moving around so fast. Baton Bass, maybe? But if so, why did it need the Scarf to get out of Gravity? Was it because the speed difference mattered?"

I bit my lip. Keido was absolutely making me think this time around. He knows it too, judging by the enormous grin ripping his face in two.

"Stealth Rocks," I ordered. Let's make it marginally harder for Accelgor to use the field as its own personal racetrack while I figure out Dusknoir's vanishing act.

"Bug Buzz."

Here we go again.

Sharp, biting rocks sprayed out in a fan, met halfway by the concentric waves of damaging air vibrations. Cradily bore it as best she could. No matter. She has Recover, if needed.

"Bug Buzz again. Will-o-Wisp via Shadow Sneak."

A dark, viscous shadow weaved across the ground, headed for Cradily. Experience kicked in, telling me the real danger, and momentarily terrifying me because my Pokémon wouldn't realize it on their own.

"Cradily, eat that Will-o-Wisp! Meta, Meteor Mash! Anywhere!" The shadow raced straight towards Cradily- and passed right beneath her. Metagross lifted itself into the air, just as Dusknoir emerged from the ground, another searing-blue ball of flame in hand. It pitched the thing straight at the retreating Metagross. Cradily, too slow to do as commanded, turned vainly. She decided to unleash an Energy Ball instead, only to be hit in the backside by a Bug Buzz. Metagross fell, furled in fiery plasma, opening a ten-foot-wide crater in the ground. It had managed to deflect the Will-o-Wisp, barely.

Dusknoir had used two different attacks. Accelgor must have Tricked the Choice Scarf back to itself during the Flash.

"Cradily can Recover, you want to poison it, not burn it. Am I-" I started, but Keido wasn't waiting to talk strategy mid-battle. He started signaling to his Pokémon with sign language, something I couldn't read.

Dusknoir began weaving spells, as its shadow began taking on life beneath it. The shadows extended, first underneath Cradily, then _moving up over Cradily_. A darkness clung to my Pokémon, threatening to engulf it.

"Toxic!" Keido yelled.

"Toxic Fist," I yelled.

Cradily moved first, aiming her head towards Metagross. A stream of potent poison spewed over the latter Pokémon. It was not going to effect the Steel-type, but that was an immunity I was counting on.

A moment later, the shadows covering Cradily's lower body erupted into a small cloud of vile-colored toxins. Dusknoir had finally succeeded in poisoning my tank.

"Iron Claw."

"Retreat!"

"Heck no!" Metagross rumbled, slashing at Dusknoir's form. Another blur flitted by… and Accelgor tumbled into sight. The mummified torso flipped end over end, righted itself, then jumped beside Dusknoir. It was sporting the Choice Scarf on its head again, as predicted.

" _GROSS_!"

My Pokémon brought its three-pronged claw down.

Dusknoir reacted, bringing up its two arms in a blocking motion, breaking the attack's momentum. Unfortunately for the ghost, it still took scratches, and thanks to Cradily's efforts, that Metal Claw had been coated with Toxic poison.

"Now both our tanks are poisoned," Keido commented.

"Who do you think will last longer?" I mused. "Whatever, Meteor Mash!" Metagross, still bearing its arm down on Dusknoir, lit up in great wrath. In another second it would overpower the ghost's defensive stance.

"Sneak! Sneak!" Keido implored.

Dusknoir inexplicably began losing height. It shrunk in an instant, till it was gone. Accelgor, limping, flitted off at insane speeds, but not so fast as to be invisible this time.

"Ah!"

A lot had happened, enough to occupy my mental faculties for a full three seconds. In that duration, Accelgor turned around and let loose a Bug Buzz, divided between both of my Pokémon.

'Sneak' was shorthand for Shadow Sneak! One of the most versatile attacks in existence, it allowed for all manner of manipulations and movement of shadows. It even allowed ghost Pokémon to hide inside of shadows themselves. What Dusknoir had been doing this whole time was jacking a ride _inside of Accelgor's shadow_. That's how it had managed to escape imminent blows so many times. Every time a Meteor Mash or the Rambo Ball threatened, Accelgor buzzed by and picked Dusknoir up by its shadow, like a ski-lift. Clever bastard!

I never would have guessed it if Accelgor hadn't tripped over Stealth Rocks right then. Still… now that I know his strategy, I can't even think of a way to counter it. A Pokémon as tough as Dusknoir, making use of Accelgor's speed, it was as if the two Pokémon were combined into one superior battler. No wonder Keido requested a doubles battle. He was counting on synergy to make up the power difference.

Ah, well, the devil's in the execution, though, and Keido's Pokémon weren't quite up to perfection. Dusknoir was Toxic'd and would faint on its own, given enough time. Cradily could last longer, thanks to Recover, Giga Drain, and Ingrain - should I choose to sacrifice Cradily's mobility.

"Dusknoir, switch out. Bug Buzz cover."

Tuffs of dust curled inward in a line perpendicular to our position. Accelgor had crossed the field from sideline to sideline, and it left a thick Bug Buzz in its wake. The maneuver gave the attack volume enough to preclude any hope of dodging it; but it also diluted the sound waves enough so that Metagross and Cradily could defend themselves without too much damage. From the sound of Keido's command, it seems he's trying to let Dusknoir switch out.

"Cradily, use your roots to start a defensive position. Metagross, Iron Defense." I don't know what Keido is doing or who he's bringing out. The barrage of wide-field Bug Buzzes is preventing me from advancing; indeed the vibrations are riling up the sandstorm even more, effectively obscuring the far side of the field. My Pokémon executed their commands, and a moment later the shrill buzzing ceased.

"Burn him!" came an enthusiastic voice from the unseen opponent's direction.

"Cradily, Recover. Keep an eye out on the Stealth Rocks. Metagross, Magnet Rise."

The battlefield grew dark - for just an instant. The next, it lit up like dawn over the ocean. A brilliant pentagram burst through the sandstorm, leaving a vortex of shimmering ash. Its flames were shaded an unearthly violet glow. It came in fast, too fast for me to order a counter. "Wa-" was all I managed to shout, uselessly.

The Fire Blast hit Cradily's fortifications, blowing apart stone and earthen berms like a toddler who was finished with their sandcastle and had decided to go dinosaur on it. A good portion of the explosion blew over into Cradily's body. The damage was indeterminate at the moment.

"Metagross, fresh Light Screen."

Another movable, glass-like pane appeared before my tag-team. Keido immediately got the idea to use the radiant Screen as a targeting bullseye, since another Fire Blast roared in directly upon it. The blastwave from this one reached the sides of the arena, hit the shields and washing up the invisible energy wall halfway to the ceiling.

"Crad-"

" _Dusk_!"

Dusknoir was right there, in Cradily's face. It gave Cradily a left hook with its fist and rumbled past.

When did Dusknoir come back out? Rather, did it ever go back? Could Accelgor have been the one letting off those monstrous Fire Blasts? No, impossible, Keido lied. He switched Accelgor for someone, not Dusknoir, someone with an incredible special attack.

Questions rushed through my head, competing with frenzied next-step decisions for valuable mental computation cycles.

Dusknoir aimed for his real target, Metagross. In one hand, it held a blue-white Will-o-Wisp. In the other, a red-tinted vortex. I recognized it as a Pain-Split. Metagross was almost within melee range - it lunged forward with both hands…

The foe could have hit with one or the other attack, but not both. Metagross lifted himself into the air, Dusknoir's out-stretched hands grasping to connect with the vile status conditions.

" _Cradily_!" Cradily lit Dusknoir up from behind with a Giga Drain. The ghost howled, reached around and dropped both the Will-o-Wisp and Pain Split onto Cradily.

"Flare!"

"Psychic!"

A third Fire Blast carried over from the far side of the field. A blurry figure, wreathed in pinpricks of blue flame, could just barely be made out. The incoming fiery rocket buried itself into the ground, erupting in a shower of flame and dazzling lights.

It had missed, by a wide margin. Dusknoir and Cradily were outlined by the residual fireball.

_Shadows. They're casting shadows before the light of the Fire Blast explosions._

I told this to myself, paying attention just in time to catch the real-time application. Dusknoir dipped into Cradily's momentarily-extended shadow and zipped away.

"Shadow Ball." The dark mass came zooming in from the dust cloud. Metagross batted the Ghost attack to the side, only to find Dusknoir AGAIN three feet in front of it. Metagross avoided the Will-o-Wisp by scuttling to its left. Dusknoir couldn't reach around in time, but its own right fist caught the retreating behemoth with a Shadow Punch to the rear.

"He's using the _shadow_ from the _Shadow_ Ball to travel," I muttered to myself, not even bothering to listen to my own puns. This is frustrating.

Dusknoir was a real thug, a grand-theft-shadow. This was not something made up on the spot, Keido had been drilling this into them for some time. It's almost as if the trainer prepared an entire range of tactics to specifically counter me and my Pokémon. _Tcht_ _tcht_ , Keido, that's being a poor sport.

"Hey, what are you trying to pull?" I asked out to him.

"Pull? What? I'm just trying to win!" he called back.

"I mean you tailored this team specifically to counter me."

"Why not?!" I could hear the dismissive shrug in his voice, even if I couldn't see it. He's not terribly concerned about what I think while we're in the middle of the battle.

"How much do you want to win? Does it mean so much to you?" I asked him.

"You ask some weird questions Mr. Stone. Pay attention!" A Fire Blast ripped past Metagross, blowing up in the corner of the field.

"Cradily, Recover again. Metagross, we're going scouting. Use Agility."

As my Pokémon reinforced themselves, another explosion sounded out at the far side of the field. It didn't look like the blast was intended to hit my Pokémon. The Sandstorm parted for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of Keido and the silhouettes of his two Pokémon. Unfortunately, I couldn't identify the artillery-slinger from the tiny window available. The glare from the fireball faded quickly, but not before lighting up the field.

" _Dusk_!"

 "Right, help your friend dodge them," Keido ordered. Recollecting the image of the battlefield a moment prior, and putting two-and-two together, I decided that that last Fire Blast had been to expose the camouflaged "incognito igneous". The hated rocks normally blended in with the ground, but created stark shadows when a high-intensity, pinpoint light source ignited nearby.

"Move in."

"Earthquake, Meta." I took a glance, seeing that Metagross was still raised due to Magnet Rise, and amended my order. "Earthquake, Cradily. Metagross, Earth Power." Keido's assault would inevitably involve some clever gimmick. I wonder how it'll handle a battleground-wide trembler?

 _Brroombroombroombroom_! The lovely sound of earth grinding upon earth, oscillating in devastating waves, enough to violently shake and damage internal organs. In between the rolling waves of earth, red-hot gouts of lava blasted outwards, like fans of sequential geysers.

"Hold off!" Keido commanded. "Wait for the pussies to stop the temper tantrum."

"Dusknoir can't afford to wait."

"Neither can Cradily."

"He can Recover."

"Only for so long."

The Toxic was beginning to seriously build up in Cradily's system. Another minute or so and no amount of recovery moves would save him. The same was true for Dusknoir.

"Pain Split." His attack sounded out, but strangely Dusknoir was nowhere to be seen. No red-sworling vortex appeared, and my Pokémon were not hit. Did he Pain Split with his own Pokémon? That's seriously too much, he's putting too much of a premium on Dusknoir's survival.

"Earthquake again," I commanded. If I keep them at bay, Toxic will eventually finish the annoying Dusknoir off. As a bonus, Earthquake is effective at hitting the shadows that Dusknoir likes to hide in. The only thing to fear is a direct hit from one of those Fire Blasts. The Sandstorm ought to make it just as hard for them to see my side of the field as it is for me to see theirs.

"Sunny Day."

Holy lignite.

The Sandstorm that had been going since Tyranitar appeared disintegrated. It was replaced by a harsh, unending glow. The air itself seemed to luminesce and heat up to an uncomfortable temperature. We had exchanged one desert-like weather condition for another.

At least I can… aw, no way! I thought I could finally identify the Fire Blast hurler, but only Dusknoir was visible.

"More tricks. More tricks," I muttered. Still, the absence of the Pokémon told me almost as much as simply seeing who it was. There were only a few Pokémon capable of hiding and using Fire-

"-Blast!" Dusknoir held up its hands, and lo-and-behold, a pentagram of fire shot out. There was no missing this time.

"Met-" My Pokémon reacted, going off experience and training.

Metagross clutched Cradily in its claw and dragged the slow Pokémon in front of it. The Fire Blast hit, blasting the pair across the ground.

Cradily had taken all of it. There wasn't even a point in checking its status, the Toxic had done too much prior damage. The blast had KO'd it, saving Metagross in the process.

"Cradily, return. Thanks for the block, sorry you had to go down like that," I managed to say, trying to keep my mind from blowing up as well.

Since, you know, it's just a Dusknoir chucking out impossible moves with a special attack power it had utterly failed to demonstrate during the previous bouts of fighting.

"My last Pokémon." Already forced to bring out my fourth Pokémon. This is embarrassing. "Aggron!"

Aggron bellowed upon arrival. It was a fierce roar that caused Dusknoir to flinch, even with the distance separating them.

"There's really nothing left to do but Fire Blast everything," Keido said aloud. He shrugged his shoulders, as if disappointed.

To think, though, that this battle had already been decided was foolish. And I knew Keido was no fool. He was already anticipating my countermeasures and coming up with his own. Which means he still has tricks up his sleeve, apart from the impossible pyro-bomber standing before him.

"Finish it off Dusknoir."

"Metal Burst. Metagross, Hone Claws."

The pentagram of fiery explosions arced over once again. Aggron charged forwards, willingly taking the impact- and came out the other side of the rising smoke, still standing. Not unhurt, in fact it was fairly glowing from head-to-toe where the attack heated its armor. Even still, the hot-iron glow receded, or rather, was being drawn to a point inside of Aggron's jaw. It let the bundled energy loose, blasting out like a cannon shot.

The silver-blur was dead-on accurate, smacking Dusknoir in the face and pushing the ghost Pokémon backwards. It dug into the ground with its hands, bringing it to a standstill after leaving a two-yard trail in the dirt.

Keido was shocked.

So was I.

"Aggron survived that?!"

"A Chandelure?!"

A bulbous lantern holding within a throbbing azure flame, encircled by arms tipped with smaller flickers of blue flame, hovered where Dusknoir had just been.

"It was phased inside of Dusknoir, to make it seem like the tank was responsible for the Fire Blasts," I realized.

"He's probably got Sturdy- but that should mean any little flame will topple him," Keido surmised the answer to his own puzzlement.

"Dusknoir... recall. Chandelure, Shadow Ball."

"Aggron, cover. Metagross, Agility."

He and I put out our commands simultaneously; the Pokémon obeyed instantly. Aggron burled his way forward, hugging the incoming Shadow Ball. The translucent, ethereal smoke curled around him, but it did not faint the beast.

"I don't get it… he should be gone." Keido scratched his head.

"Are you feigning ignorance, or did you forget about the Lightscreen?"

"Yeah, but…" His body was perfectly composed into a baffled, limp, helpless posture. He was either genuinely put off guard by the action, or else he was amazing at faking it.

"What're you hiding?" I demanded.

"What are YOU hiding?" he threw back across the field.

"Nothing. Just solid strategy. Oh, well, there is this little trick.   
Aggron, Charge Beam."

Meanwhile, Dusknoir had managed to drag himself back into recall range. Keido held the pokeball ready, and snagged the Pokémon up into digitized safety the moment it was within range. I had hoped Toxic would have taken that thing down by now, but obviously it had more toughness than I gave it credit for. It was replaced by a Houndoom.

"Surprise, another Fire type. Still trying to deny that you tailored this for my Steel-type specialization?" I asked my rival.

"Considering you've brought three different Rock types, you think it was such a good idea?"

"I've got one good Pokémon left, so yeah, maybe it was."

Aggron had moved himself into the center of the field, taking careful aim at the foes. Keido wasn't the only one teaching weird moves to their Pokémon. The automated Technical Machine for Charge Beam wasn't compatible with Aggron: the Pokémon was simply not capable of decoding the metadata being transmitted. That didn't stop me from trying, or succeeding, in my own way.

"Flamethrower. Fire Blast."

"Lev."

The two Fire-type opponents dashed to either side of the arena, trying a flanking maneuver. Aggron let off a stream of electricity in Houndoom's direction. The canine outran it, and took a deep breath. On the left side, Chandelure's auxiliary flames flickered, coalescing a fireball between them.

"Too slow."

The fire attacks came within microseconds of each other. Nice coordination- but they took time gaining Aggron's flanks. My Pokémon leapt, like no Aggron should, a dozen yards into the air. A white-hot explosion lit up beneath him, tremendous energy being expended.

Metagross grunted. Aggron crashed to the earth, splintering it apart and unleashing an Earthquake. Not close enough to hurt the foe, but good for throwing off their aim for a few moments.

"Good work." Metagross nodded. Using Telekinesis to vault an ally above incoming attacks was a tactic we had practiced dozens of time.

"Charge Beam."

"Why?" Keido asked. This time he was not puzzled so much as bemused.

"I know, right? Aggron has such poor special attack, what could it possibly do with a little more?" I smirked. Let's see if a few mind games of my own can do any good.

Aggron zapped Chandelure, who couldn't dodge, nor needed to. It shivered under the weak attack, and then shrugged off the damage.

"Aggron, you good?"

" _Gron_!"

"Okay then, Blizzard!"

Come to think of it, Aggron has quite the specially-offensive repertoire. Blizzard, Thunder, Flamethrower, Solarbeam, Flash Cannon… I don't think we ever practiced using them, but it was fun and sometimes useful to know such a diverse movepool. The Charge Beam boosts might even give them a respectable amount of oomph.

Houndoom belched flames into the air, melting the burst of cold, flurry-filled air before it washed over it. Chandelure must not have had a generalized fire attack, because it skirted back towards its trainer. No matter, the Blizzard caught up with it, doing some damage. At the center, the whirling vortex of snowflakes grew more and more intense.

"Metagross, Psych Up, then Hone Claws. Aggron, Pattern Root."

" _Gross_." There was a soft humming in the background, but I didn't have time to focus on it.

Houndoom raced in, tunneling through the Blizzard using a constant Flamethrower. It reached the center of the thick mess… and paused. The ground was broken up, but Aggron had disappeared.

"Houndoom, get back here."

The ground splintered apart at Houndoom's hind quarters, and an iron claw grabbed it by the ankle. Houndoom was lifted into the air as Aggron unearthed itself.

"Gotcha."

Houndoom contorted, trying to use a Flamethrower. Aggron used its other arm to grab the canine by the neck and twisted, turning the fire-spewing jaws away. In this position, the mountain-eater could do anything it wanted with the hapless foe.

"Gotcha." This was from the opposing human.

"Crap."

Aggron suddenly bent over, shivering and exerting itself. It stood taut, trying to move, but completely unable. Its feet were anchored to the floor.

"Shadow Tag," I muttered.

Without upkeep, the Blizzard had quickly dissipated beneath the still-active Sunny Day. Chandelure rested, brimming with glee, on Aggron's elongated shadow. Houndoom had been bait… no, worse, even caught in Aggron's grasp, it was flaring its tail flame, helping Aggron's shadow stand out further.

"Flash Cannon," I ordered. "Meta, Light Screen!"

"Fire combo."

Aggron threw Houndoom aside and let loose a light-bound bullet. The incoming pentagram of fire was nixed straight through the center, folding in on itself and exploding, only some five yards in front of Aggron. The smoke wreathed, then split. A Flame Shot burst through, fast, as fast as the Flash Cannon, blasting Aggron across the face. The third Fire Blast came through, seemingly destined for a clean hit.

The flames slashed diagonally in front of Aggron. A Light Screen, entirely opaque from the energy being absorbed, held up at an angle. The damage had been safely redirected.

This is getting tough.

I'm getting a little angry.

"Houndoom-"

"Die," I finished Keido's command for him.

Houndoom turned to finish off Aggron himself. Unknown to it, a one-ton chunk of cyberized wrath had appeared behind it. The combined Metal-Claw/Earthquake was swift and merciless.

" _HOUNDOOOooo_ -!" One shot. Never stood a chance. Even as Keido went to withdraw his Houndoom, I was already preparing for my next assault.

"Rambo Combo." It's not like Tyranitar was the only Pokémon Metagross could use as a living wrecking ball.

"Chandelure, Fire Blast!" The ball of spiked doom rolled towards it, aided by Metagross' Telekinesis. The Fire Blast slowed it down- likely fainting Aggron for good, but his unconscious body was no less dangerous as a blunt boulder.

" _Dusk_!" The Pokémon jumped in, slamming its behind into the ground and reaching up with both palms, taking Aggron's bulk head-on. The three Pokémon smashed into the side of the shields. A dust cloud obscured the area.

"So who made it out alive?" I pondered. Metagross trotted to the center of the field.

"Don't use such morbid terms for a match," Keido chided me.

"You're right." I sighed. I should know better. Besides, my question was answered a moment later.

Aggron had taken one-too many Fire Blasts, and had fainted. Dusknoir stood, panting and completely worn out, propping up the Steel-Rock behemoth. Behind him, Chandelure cowered.

"Chandelure."

" _Chan_!" The Pokémon rushed out, already readying a Fire Blast.

"Metagross, Calibrate."

The shot zoomed across the field. Even as Chandelure fired it, I was already whipping my arms. It hurt, like trying to chuck a fastball way past one's prime, but I managed it just in time. Aggron returned, Tyranitar came out, and took the Fire Blast straight to the gut. He slumped over, and just like that, I was down to my last Pokémon.

One versus three. Perfect.

"FINALLY!"

Apparently Keido thinks it's perfect too, because he's jumping up and down and acting like the match was his.

"FINALLY! YES!" He hooped and hollered and clutched himself. "The great Steven Stone, finally done in!"

"Hey now. I still have one Pokémon left."

"EXACTLY!"

I tilted my head.

"No, wait, you're right," my opponent conceded. "Dusk, you still got it in you?"

" _Dusknoir_!"

I opened my mouth to react, but everything happened too fast.

Chandelure lit up, renewing its Sunny Day, combined with a Flash. This was behind Dusknoir, who's shadow stretched out, like a spear. Metagross saw the threat for what it was, a Shadow Sneak, and tried to move away. The spike of darkness burst into a dozen arms, and then, like an abyssal Tentacruel coming to surface, reached into the air. They didn't attach themselves to Metagross' shadow so much as grab and choke the Pokémon itself. My Pokémon tugged and clawed, slashing the shadows into little bits… but each time, the tentacles of shadow split, multiplied, and regrouped.

Then, just as Metagross seemed like it could drag himself free, it stopped. Nothing else had appeared in the vicinity, yet it had suddenly ceased all movement, dropping to the floor. I followed the mass of lightless arms back to their source.

Chandelure lay upon Dusknoir's shadow. That was it. The foe had used Dusknoir's shadow to bridge the long gap between them and my own Pokémon. Shadow Tag now held Metagross in place, helpless.

"Hehehehe."

Keido was smiling. I wasn't.

"So you see what happened?" Keido gloated.

"Tell me," I retorted.

"Awhile back, I was playing chess, y'know, and I kept thinking about how you always beat me, every time. So, there's the pieces on the board, and I was in a tight spot. And why? Because one piece had been dashing all over the board, covering good spots and pinning my pieces down. That was the badguy's queen. So I came to realize, you treat your Metagross like a chess queen. It's big, powerful, much more powerful than your rest." Keido explained this, seemingly carelessly, but stealing a glance towards the Pokémon every few seconds. He didn't need to worry, Metagross wasn't moving.

"That's obvious. What's chess got to do with this?" I asked, a little upset.

"So, I got to thinking how much trouble it was having to play against this queen. And it seemed like, everything I did, I couldn't protect my king from her. Each move cost me more and more pieces. Well, I lost, but it got me thinking. Because Metagross is so big and so strong, doesn't that make them important to you? Valuable, even? You're awfully protective of the brute. So I said to myself, 'Why don't I come up with a strategy that turns Steven's queen… into a king?' Concoct moves and tactics that make it seem like you should throw your other team members away just to protect Metagross."

He nodded to himself.

"That's why I wasn't too bothered that all your team were Rock-types, even though I brought Fires. As long as Metagross was vulnerable, the others would step in and take the heat for it. And that's cost you. You're down to Meta and I have so many ways I could finish it off, it's not funny."

"So you tailored your entire team, not just to counter me, but to counter one single Pokémon."

"And it worked beautifully, my friend," Keido said exuberantly.

"Friend is such a strong word," I said.

He didn't shrug or play this one off meekly. "It's twenty years I've had to put up with this crap. I've been due for a day in the sunshine."

"It's not going to be this year."

"Yeah right. Fire Blast."

Dusknoir was barely holding on. The shadow connecting him and Metagross was thinning. But so long as a single millimeter connected Chandelure to Metagross, Shadow Tag would continue to hold my Pokémon down. There was no dodging this Fire Blast.

Chandelure took its time, circles of energy and flickers of flame elaborately dancing around its core, growing in intensity, shimmering brighter and brighter. The air itself fed into the attack's power, the effect of Sunny Day kicking in.

"Might want to close your eyes."

" _CHANDRAAAA_!"

Chandelure whipped all its arms outward, flinging the condensed ball of pyrotechnics towards Metagross. The five branches unfolded from the center, painting a great 'DAI' character of oblivion into the air, the image burning into the retina. With such great power, it didn't fly very fast, just fast enough. Another four seconds to impact.

I gritted my teeth.

Keido's eyes opened wide.

Dusknoir collapsed, Toxic finally downing him.

Chandelure slumped to the side, tired, watching its final Fire Blast race in.

And Metagross did not move an inch.

 ** _POOF_**.

The Fire Blast disappeared into a cloud of thin white smoke, mere inches in front of Metagross.

"You- you-you… HOW?! Never mind, Fire Blast!" Chandelure protested. It had exhausted itself with the repeated power shots, it couldn't muster another one.

"You've got to! Flame Shot!"

Chandelure tried, and managed to fire off a little spat of flame, like a shotgun. Metagross, free from Shadow Tag, flipped into the air, avoiding the impact.

"I don't even… it's not…" Keido flipped out, clutching his head and waving it around.

"I ACCOUNTED FOR EVERYTHING! LIGHT SCREEN, HIS SPECIAL DEFENSE, INTERCEPTION ATTACKS!" His focus dashed between each Pokémon before finally settling on my own person, begging for an explanation.

I held myself loosely. Time for the teacher to go to work.

"I think we've already established Metagross can move things with its four brains via telekinesis."

"It's FIRE. It can't be moved! It's not a physical object!" Keido objected.

"True, it can't. BUT, you said so yourself. It's _fire_."

"I don't get it."

"What does fire need to exist?"

Keido stared at me blankly for a few seconds, before sounding off the stupidest elementary-school-level answer he could think of.

"Air?"

"Exactly!"

"Huh?!"

"Metagross can move objects with its mind. Things like other Pokémon, sand, rocks… and _oxygen molecules_. You can't see it, but Meta is floating in a big bubble of pure vacuum right now. Not really conducive for combustion. Probably should have gone for Shadow Ball, although that might not have been enough for a knockout."

I flourished.

"Oh, AND, you were right on the money. Metagross is my most important and strongest Pokémon. But I wasn't going to throw my team away if Meta' didn't deserve that sacrifice. It hasn't been whiling away this whole battle doing nothing but support."

"Oh… Shi…" Now it's coming to him. Utter shock is now being replaced by realization and dread, as Keido comprehends how totally and utterly screwed he is.

"Light Screen, Iron Defense, two Hone Claws, two Agilities, and Psych Up-copying a pair of Charge Beams." I listed off the condition boosters Metagross had accumulated throughout the fight. My pokemon had never lost them, not to attacks, and certainly not due to being retreated. It's the only Pokémon who had grinded out the entire fight without retreating.

"You better not half-ass this now, I want to have fun with my MetaGod," I taunted Keido, recalling his own demand from before the fight. He picked himself up.

"It's only one super-powered Pokémon. I'm not finished," he uttered to himself. He doesn't sound very convincing.

"Accelgor," he called out, releasing his final Pokémon. It's now two versus one in his favor, as if that mattered. The trainer hunched down, preparing to ignite the final clash of the battle. I steadied myself as well.

 "Chandelure, Shadow Sneak," Keido ordered.

Oh! Apparently the light fixture knows Shadow Sneak too. Interesting. Chandelure evaporated into the blob of darkness beneath Accelgor, and the pair raced off. Even now, Accelgor was fast enough to zip across the room in an instant- but not quite invisibly. The Stealth Rocks were still littering the field, making it dangerous to try to buzz around the field recklessly. The mummied Pokémon would appear for a few seconds, change course to avoid the rocks, and then vanish again.

"Ever heard of the move Calibrate?" I asked.

"No."

"Course not. I had to invent it. It's for Metagross. It's a stat-boost, but not any of the major, measurable stats. What it does is it speeds up its reflexes, its processing power. Pushing air molecules around takes a lot more finesse than, say, lifting a Tyranitar. Calibrate allows it to do that. It also has other beneficial effects; for instance, it speeds up the retinal focusing reflexes."

"Wah?! Who cares! Accelgor, Bug Buzz!"

Metagross lashed out first, sending a Flash Cannon cracking out at an odd vector. Accelgor blipped into existence, just at the exact moment and point of space that the Flash Cannon bullet passed through. The attack smacked it dead in the face, knocking the Pokémon off-balance. A Psychic attack took hold and tossed it across the floor.

"Accel! Get close! Bug Buzz!" Still Scarfed, if I recall. Accelgor picked itself up and charged.

"Reverse Mighty Morphin time!" I shouted.

Little known fact: Metagross's four arms are detachable.

With successive _'clinks'_ each clawed arm disengaged, and then began hovering around the core body. Metagross's mental acuity held them airborne. Even more so than the Rambo Ball, it could will these through the air with ease- quick, agile, airborne, pronged, and guided. They were no longer Metagross's limbs so much as modern combat weapons.

Accelgor flicked across the arena in a zigzag pattern, only ever pausing for a moment to change course. Metagross's claws launched, gunning for the bug like heat-seeking missiles. Rapid-fire plumes of dust sprung into the air, trailing the invisible path of Accelgor as it sought a clear vector. The missile massacre did not relent; with each miss, the claws instantly flipped airborne and reengaged.

"Meta, Flight Test!"

Each code word signaled a drill we had practiced, indicating what the Pokémon needed to do without wasting time or alerting the opposing trainer. 'Flight Test' was a tactic common in aerial dogfights. Metagross  began by lifting itself telekinetically. Using its Agility boosts, it raced towards the sideline, away from the incoming Accelgor.

Accelgor followed.

"Go after it!" Keido ordered, hoping Accelgor's Scarf would help close the gap. It seemed to work. As Metagross skirted in a wide circle around the arena's edge, Accelgor gained two-thirds of the distance within seconds.

"He won't notice it," I told myself confidently.

Metagross and Accelgor were now circle-strafing each other, trying to gain an angle. The G's involved were tremendous, almost to the point of hurting the Pokémon. But whoever slowed down or gave up the angle first was going to lose. Spare Flash Cannons and Bug Buzzes zipped across the gap between them, each testing their aim. The arm-missiles constantly pursued Accelgor as well, but couldn't keep up the same rate of turn, often flying off in erratic directions. Nothing was hitting, the both of them were moving too fast, in too tight a circle.

Round and round, tighter and tighter- any moment now…

" _Groooor_!" The Accelgor moaned faintly, and then tumbled out of the strafe, plowing face-first into the ground. Metagross came round and plowed him further into the dirt with a Psychic attack, followed moments later by three of the four arms smashing and battering its sides.

"Blacked out?" Keido guessed. I nodded in affirmation.

"Metagross can take G's better than any Pokémon alive, due to its special cyber-based nervous system. It's to its advantage to draw others into strafing battles. Meteor Mash, with Lightscreen!"

Metagross lit up, forming a hexagonal screen beneath its bulk, and then dropped. Its body flared, plasma spewing behind it leaving an electromagnetic solar-hued rainbow.

The Lightscreen will shield Metagross from any special counter-attack, but still allow the physical Meteor Mash to penetrate with full force.

"Trick-vade."

Keido's Pokémon flicked, something going on between them. Metagross landed with a catastrophic bang, gouging a ten-foot crater in the floor and rocking the room. Bits of rubble and even underlying concrete peppered the shields.

Yet, Accelgor stood, rigid as a tree trunk. A slight glimmer encased its body.

"Watch the Shadows!" I yelled.

Accelgor had used Protect to survive the Meteor Mash, which means it Tricked the Choice Scarf over to Chandelure somehow, who was now… somewhere…

Metagross recalled its limbs, each clicking into place and gyrating, getting resynced with the Pokémon's nervous system.

Chandelure arose from Metagross's own shadow, slithering up behind the blindsided Pokémon. Too bad for it; Callibrate also increases Meta's heat sensitivity. My Pokémon snatched the retreating Accelgor from the air and flung it around, blocking the Flame Shot heading towards it. The fireball blasted Accelgor, dealing super-effective damage. The thing couldn't be far from fainting now.

Even still, the Pokémon recovered nigh-instantly. Accelgor picked the Choice Scarf off of Chandelure's head and donned itself with it.

"Bug Buzz! Shadow Sneak for Shadow Tag!"

Accelgor flitted into firing range, exerted itself, and slumped. It had no more energy for special attacks.

"Meta, finish the bug off!" I called.

It tried, reaching out a claw- only to stop short. Chandelure had succeeded in locking it down again.

"Fine, Crunch the light fixture!"

"Overheat!"

"Pulse! Pulse!"

Chandelure drew in close, right up to Metagross' side, and began glowing. The air shimmered, a moment and it would be radiating like a miniature sun.

" _GROSS_!"

My Pokémon's eyes flared, concentrating all the psychic power it could muster within a half-second. A half-formed Light Screen formed between the two, and pushed, backing Chandelure away. It had only gone two feet, though, when the Overheat reached critical mass. The air turned into a solid sphere of heat, washing over Chandelure and Metagross. It was not combustion, but pure thermo-radiant energy; the vacuum trick was worthless here. Only the Lightscreen saved Metagross from an untimely demise. The intense sphere radiated outwards, and then faded as it spent itself.

"Meta?!" I called out.

" _Gross!_ " it finished. It was hurt. Hurt, in pain, and nearly crippled- but not quite fainted. It had one last exchange in it.

"Earthquake!"

Chandelure tried to retreat, but exhausted as it was, it had no chance. Still less chance once Metagross's Gravity/Psychic took hold, dragging the bulb of now-dullen embers backwards. Metagross brought a fist down, shoving Chandelure into the dirt and making it the epicenter of a devastating quake.

"One down! Now Zen-"

"Bug Bite!"

Oh crap.

Oh crap oh crap oh crap!

Accelgor U-turned at the far end and came racing back towards Metagross at full tilt.

It's hurt.

So is Metagross.

I hadn't counted on Chandelure still having an Overheat in the barrel, and now, for all of our preparation, Metagross was limping.

Both Pokémon are down to their last sliver of health. It would all come to whoever landed the first blow. A Scarfed Accelgor will outrun even a twice Agility-boosted Metagross. It'll get the first strike.

Time compressed. My mind raced, trying to slow down its perception of time enough to make a decision. I had two seconds before Metagross was hit. Less than a second to order an attack.

 **THINK**!

Psychic, Zen Headbutt, Metal Claw, Meteor Mash, Earthquake, Crunch, Shadow Ball, Rock Slide, Gravity Bomb, Bullet Punch, Flash Cannon- all too slow! No, wait!

"Bullet Punch!"

I flinched.

It didn't matter. I wasn't going to see it anyways. In the space of .0027 seconds, Metagross's fore-right limb covered 4 feet with perfect timing and nigh-instantaneous acceleration, connecting with Accelgor's forehead as it lunged forward with open jaws. It was the equivalent of getting hit by a sledgehammer going 1,444 feet per second, or 985 miles per hour. Faster, in fact, than a 9mm bullet.

All I and Keido saw, however, was Accelgor spin backwards end over end, even as its sheer momentum still carried it forwards and beyond Metagross. The behemoth quadruped stood stock still and poised, fist still raised.

Accelgor finally flopped to an awkward landing. It was breathing, slow and agonizingly, but otherwise it wasn't moving. The match was over.

I won.

Keido recalled his two Pokémon and lumbered over. The familiar air of a scolded puppy hung about him, this time tainted with the pain of knowing he had come closer to beating me than ever before.

"Drinks," I inquired.

"Ugh. Bet's a bet."

"How about Claranista's," I suggested, smiling.

"That's way too expensive," Keido protested.

"I'm feeling magnanimous today. Drinks on me. Besides, I need a drinking buddy. Badly." I put my arm around my sometime-friend, sometime-enemy, and guided the sad wreck out towards the parking lot exit.


	9. Drinking Buddies

"So tell me, how was Accelgor able to use both Bug Buzz and Trick with a Choice Scarf on its head?"

Choice Scarf is a double-edged weapon- it alters the brain's neuro-patterns, repurposing prefrontal lobe matter to functions usually reserved for the cerebellum. I.E., it forces the wearer to "think harder" about how to move their bodies faster. This comes at the expense of cognitive function, of course. Their movepool is reduced to the first command given upon entry into the field. In other words, Keido's Accelgor shouldn't be using two or more moves while Scarfed like it did during our match.

"I thought it was obvious. Everyone on my team knows Trick, ya lunk."

Well damn. I'm an idiot. If I had even suspected that from the start the outcome of our match wouldn't have been remotely close.

"What quack. I shoulda won. Shoulda coulda won," Keido moaned, again, for the fifth time (I _was_ counting).

"So you understand why you loss."

"Right, you're going to have to explain that to me, bub, because I have no clue what went on there. I mean… I saw it, but I don't believe it."

We sat at the bar side-by-side skimming pricey beers and watching a late-night basketball game. No Pokémon matches to follow, battling season wasn't until late spring. The place was mostly empty, just a few regulars who gave us no mind. The tender had nodded to us as we entered, lifting an eyebrow at Keido, who was new. As for me, I had become a semi-regular, worthy of no special attention. I don't believe he even knows who I really am.

"Why do you think I kept belaboring you on building a counter team? That wasn't for my benefit!" I was lecturing Keido's on his battling philosophy at the moment.

"It's only way I was ever gonna beat you, dirtbag!" Keido protested. "You think I was gonna let you roll me over, did ya?" Pardon him, he gets a little redneck when he's drunk. Must come from his mother, she was a farmer's girl.

"Hey, I know you think I'm cruel, but I've been trying to train you to be a good trainer. You really want to settle on taking potshots in hopes of scoring a win over me?"

"Hell yeah!"

"You're terrific. Bona fide."

"And you're a block of concrete, for all yer originality!"

I sighed. The message is competing with alcohol for Keido brain-space. And it's losing.

"Okay, okay, listen closely, " I told him, holding his drinking arm down. "You are NEVER going to beat me unless you ditch the gimmicks!"

"But I'm a gimmick trainer! Take that away and I'm a… what, a bitchy-stall team! Bah!" He resisted and managed to bring his glass to his chin, sloshing maybe a third of a gulp into his mouth and the remainder dripped down his neck.

"See, that's not true. You can use strategy and tactics, but it comes down to basics, every time!" I took a deep breath. Time to break it down for him carefully, and pray for some of it to sink in. "A great trainer, such as myself, doesn't get the luxury to adapt to every kip and capper who thinks they're better than you. We can't rely on cheap tactics, because gimmicks' best strength is their surprise factor. But you become as famous as me, and your gimmicks will be found out way ahead of time, and people will counter-counter you."

"God, you just said a lot of stuff I didn't want to hear."

I backhanded his cheek, just hard enough to get his attention. "Hey, I don't need you sober, but I don't want you drunk either. The point being, to be the best, you need each and every Pokémon you bring to battle to be fundamentally stronger than anything they're likely OR unlikely to face. You have got to build redundancies in type coverage, defenses, and tactics. You have to prepare for EVERYTHING conceivable, because that's what they're going to throw at you. And when you meet an opponent who does that, and does it well, your gimmicks won't work unless your Pokémon are stronger and better disciplined. You got that?"

"So, if I care to condense that Tauros-shit down, is that sneak-attacks don't work because you're expecting them, and I should just train my ass off and somehow I'll magically beat your monstrous bastards."

"See, you're looking at it the whole wrong way," I protested.

"I don't care about no tournaments! I just want a 'W' against you in the next decade! Don't tell me I didn't come close!"

"You did come close, and guess what! It's because I'm slacking on training, and you haven't, so the gap has closed. Keep training your Pokémon, you'll pass me up."

"I don't wanna pass you up when you're slacking! I want to beat you at your prime, ducky!"

I think he just called me 'ducky'. Did he seriously just call me that? Okay, he can pay for his next beer on his own. I think I might want some of my own, or something stronger.

"Hey, can I get a glass of scotch? Whatever's on tap is fine," I signaled to the bartender.

"Same here," Keido said.

"Oka-"

"Scratch his request," I interjected. "I'm not paying to scotch this farmboy up until he's heard all my woeful shortcomings."

"City-prick."

"Seriously," I said, turning to him directly, "start thinking about how to be a better trainer, period. I mean, it's not like you didn't blitz the Unovan tournament that one year, you're certainly capable."

"I don't need more scoldin from you, oh master-sama PokeGod. Had I half of what you've got, maybe I wouldn't need to badger for a rematch each year," he said bitterly. "Fack, it's the one thing that gets my hopes up for this miserable world, and you kill that hope each and every time, ducky."

There he goes with that 'ducky' again. The nerve! Wait, did he just insult my accomplishments? He did not!

"You don't do jack diddly to put yourself into a position to earn a tenth of what I've got!" There's something that can rile me up, even from Keido's expected shit, and that's insinuating that it wasn't _damn hard work_ getting to where I've gotten in life. I didn't build my legacy with luck and entitlement, damn it!

"Sorry, man, but you think you're the only one working his butt off?" Keido said.

"I realize everyone works and works and works till their asses fall off, but just because that isn't the real key to success doesn't mean the missing ingredient is some random-biased horsepie crap like 'luck'."

"If only."

"Stop being jealous. You want to be successful? Rich? I hope you like money, lots and lots of money, because that's all you'd be doing if you had my job. And I mean, LOTS. Because you'll be up to your bushy eyebrows in paperwork and bills and ledgers and excel spreadsheets. Infinite, endless digits representing money your responsible for but don't actually own. Oh, yeah, guess what? You don't even get the pleasure of deciding how to spend it, other people just ask for it. Imagine having three hundred different greedy banks asking for their loan payments, and every five minutes another sleazy acquaintance comes asking for a loan you know they're never going to repay. That's my job. Big whoopity-do! You take it." I ended my tirade, arms thrown into the air.

"No, way, my job is way cooler. I just wish I could, you know, TALK about my job with someone, without worrying its some sort of national security leak. It's like, 'Hey, I'm going to train some morons how to track down digitized smugglers; oh, that's secret? Woops, jail fer you!' No recognition! Toilet wages! Taken for granted by everyone, even our own bosses. Like, a little medal would be nice! A thank you? No! Nothing!"

"That's your big worry?! Bwahwhwhahaha!" I began laughing and patting the moping grown-man across the back.

His tangential insight into his own workplace problems cracked me up, and the resulting gaiety diffused our argument nicely.

"Next year, bud. I'll get some nice attention focused on your department. And maybe you'll get lucky and get that Bug Bite off first or some other luck-hax. I'm too old to keep up with you forever."

"We're getting old together. By the way, you really think you'll be in your job in a year?" he asked.

"Course I will! Why wouldn't I?"

"Cuz', you just brought me here and made it sound like you were unhappy. I'm guessing you want to quit."

…

A limping pause lilted off into silence.

Finally, Keido ventured to break it.

"Am I right?"

"I…" Well, this is what you wanted to discuss, wasn't it Steven?

"Hey, I mean, you just made it sound like the job is boring you. I was just inferring. Unless that was exaggeration?"

"No, you're wrong… and you're right," I admitted. "Job itself is okay. I mean, I can hate it at times, but I love things I hate. You know me. It's a big game, something to be beaten. I thrive in this kind of situation."

"Then what's the big deal? I know something's off."

Come all this way, and I can't really admit it to him. Not easily.

Could I come out with it?

C'mon, Mr. Stone, you're drunk enough for this!

"It's the time I have to put in. It's too much."

"What, the hours? That never bothered you before! You were always a work-a-holic!"

"Yeah, well, that was before I got married," I said, ending on a downbeat.

"Oh…" Any lingering looks of desolation and indignation disappeared from Keido's face. His eyes softened, and his arm came up to grab mine.

"I worry for you, Stone. If I had a Mrs. Takame, I wouldn't hesitate doing anything for her. Ditch my job, no problem."

"It's more complicated than that."

"It's a weekend, I got time." He leaned in forward to listen.

Oh Arceus.

"I have to work six days a week, and I'm gone every single morning and most nights, like tonight. I'm lucky if we can hitch up for lunch once a week. No vacations, no dates, no get-togethers. You think this is how newly-weds are supposed to act? Barely seeing each other? I have no idea what she's thinking, how she's taking it. I feel like she's putting on a mask every time I go home, because she doesn't want to distract me, like she knows she's supposed to be a good supportive wife. Well that, and…" I stopped short. Keido took notice and raised his eyebrows.

"She wants a baby," I let out. Keido winced at the mention of offspring. Every man knows that feeling.

"She wants a kid and I feel like she's punting every other issue down the road in order to get on my good side on this kid issue."

"And? How do you feel about it?" Keido asked.

"I'm taking teclazone."

"Fuck, Steven!" He shook his head and leaned back. "Does she know?"

"No."

"Fuck, man, pardon my language, but that is messed up. That's divorce material waiting to happen. What the hell are you thinking?"

"I don't know what the hell I'm thinking. I don't want to think about having to raise a kid, thus the contraceptives."

"Listen," Keido said emphatically. "This is something you should have gone over before giving her a rock. It's kind of a big deal. Now, if you don't want any heirs, that's fine by me, but to her, that could be-"

"That's just it! I DO want little Stones pitter-pattering round the place!" I divulged. "I would LOVE to have kids. I just… I can't. Not now."

"Why the hell not?"

"The job."

"Hogwash. Do it. Your kids will forgive you when they're swimming in pools of money."

"No! What I will not, what I refuse to do is be a work-addict while my children grow up without me. As long as I'm booking these twelve-hour days, I don't want kids."

"But you've got a woman with the baby-craze. She's going to find out, eventually. She'll pester you for a fertility doctor visit."

"I know, damn it, I know!" I held my face in my hands, trying to hold down the welling tears and misery.

My wife, my dear Cynthia, has been insisting on non-recreational intercourse every night now. She just started doing all kinds of crazy in-depth research and monitoring her fertility cycle. It won't be two months now before she sniffs something's up. I can't imagine what she'll do when she finds out.

Her desire for a child has been so strong. What time I do get with her, I notice it, all the time, in the subtle ways women communicate. The family-fun magazines. Her web searches through the pages of popular family theme-parks. Popular baby-names forums. Her smile every time little rugrats cross the park path in front of us slurping ice cream cones. Chit-chat about Pokémon journeys, and Starter Pokémon. Sizing up the study next to our bedroom, as if planning a repurposing of the room. She might have mumbled "pink paint" when I passed by.

 It means so much to her. I'm inclined to agree. It would be wonderful.

Of all the challenges I've taken, all the journeys and adventures, the simplest, most universal aspiration of man- to be a father- was right before me… and yet, I was refusing it.

Why?

Keido put it even more succinctly:

"You have a 10/10 bombshell who wants to _bear your child_. What the hell is wrong with you man?!"

"I don't know."

"Is she..." he paused for faux delicacy, "Is she bad in bed?"

"WHAT?!" I took a wild look at my drinking partner. "How dare you! I would like to decisively inform you that she is to the bedroom as I am to the Pokémon World Tournament!"

"Okay, sorry, just had to ask."

We stared each other down, before bursting into another giggling match.

"You're the best," I told him.

"Nah, I'm second best, at best. You are numero uno in the world, dude."

"Yeah… I just, cannot see myself being the father she expects me to be while I'm shouldering the whole damn world's problems."

"Then quit," he insisted.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I said so. Because… because I can't just leave."

"Don't give me any doofus reason like 'I have unfinished business' here. You already did what you were really needed for in the first month, overturning all of Lance's idiot decisions. Someone else can shoulder that burden."

"Really? No. It's not a possibility," I whined.

"Yeah, it is. Now tell me what you came here to cry over and stop pussyfooting around about it."

"I can't quit. I won't hand the Pokémon League over to Brach or one of his cronies. I won't. He'll ruin everything I've worked for. Even if it's not as bad as the Lance years, it'll be close enough, if I let him get back in charge."

"I told you to stop pussyfooting. Why are you popping 2k a glass while crying to me? You're not such a Magikarp that you'd flop over to Gabe's BS like that! What's the real reason you and I are here?" Keido stared me down, the full fury of his conscience awakened.

I had the… presence of mind to look him in the eye, but could say nothing.

Keido squinted, and then sighed.

"It's the championship, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"It's not your fault."

My gaze returned to the liquid amber resting in the half-drained glass before me.

"We've been over this- I don't know, one-thousand times. It's not your damn fault. It was Forester's and Forester's alone."

"It was bound to be someone."

"It was a freak of nature. A breakdown of security caused by- and trust me, it was this- an _accident_."

"It was _not_ an accident!"

I suddenly, angrily pounded my fist into the table.

"You seriously, honestly believe I, personally, had no place in that affair?"

"Don't mix guilt and your ego, Stone," Keido warned.

"2047 straight, perfect victories!" I exclaimed. "Two-thousand! Two-thousand damn it! No losses! Not one, not anywhere on that record! Not any bigshot in any tournament, or any lucky-puck in any pokecenter board room. None!"

"Yes, I get it. You're historical. Legendary, mythical, the greatest of all time, forever, but-"

"-you can't expect me to believe," I cut him off, "that my existence had nothing to do with that environment, that culture of brinksmanship? Forester was not a bad person, not an evil person. Maybe stupid, maybe mean, but not evil. What drove him to raise such a dangerous creature as that Aerodactyl? Me. The monolith that was Steven Stone, the trainer-god, the one-who-could-not-be-beat! I started it. I jumped the boundary, I made it okay to ignore restraint and do anything, ANYTHING, to train Pokémon to a higher level and win at any cost. If not Grey, there was bound to be somebody stupid enough to think that "murderous, out of control, rage-machine, disaster-waiting-to-happen" was an acceptable cost. If it meant putting one 'L' into that perfect 2047-0-0, it was worth it. And Grey was that idiot."

I took my glass and chugged the rest of the scotch down at once.

"Haaaaa! 124 humans, dead. 15 Pokémon, dead. Because of a culture that was bound to produce at least one psychopathic Pokémon rampaging through a crowded arena. A culture I helped create."

"You're not the center of the world," Keido said softly.

"Am I not?" I rose to my feet, raised my hands to the air and peered around, shouting aloud, "Am I not the center of the world? Am I not the most powerful human being in the world?! The buck stops here, people, right here, at my feet!"

The seven other people in the tavern turned their heads to look at the spectacle. I think the bar tender just realized who exactly I was, because he was staring at me with unblinking eyes and ignoring the open cash register in front of him.

"Calm down. Sit down," Keido urged. I obeyed, the outburst spending my last bit of emotional energy.

"I made a promise, Keido. I made two promises, and I'm just now figuring out they're mutually exclusive. I vowed to be a loving husband, and I vowed to never let a nightmare like that happen again. I just don't know how I can do that and keep my marriage together."

"Easy there, easy there."

Keido tried showing me as much comfort and affection as the man-code allowed. It was 10:20, and then another 50 minutes passed by, mainly spent in aimless, pointless commiseration on my part, and fatherly cooing on Keido's. He tried turning the conversation towards himself in a vain attempt to distract. I became privy to all sorts of Top Secret details of Project CRADLE, but cared nothing for what he said.

The alcohol's immediate effects slowly wore off.

"Should I quit?" I asked aloud, as we stumbled through the bar and on our way out.

"Your job?"

"Yeah, what would you do?"

"It's not about what I would do, Steven," he said.

"Wife and kids, or job and duty?" I postulated. "That, my good fellow, is the ten billion pokédollar question.

"Hey, I can't be too helpful. You know my primary woe."

"I know, I know."

While I had struck gold in catching Cynthia, Keido had been stuck in romantic limbo ever since college. A string of a dozen relationships ending shortly in failure and heartbreak; it seemed his lot in life was to suffer beneath the heels of the opposite sex.

"You'd give this up in a heartbeat."

"Probably. It's painful. But you know what? I see you and how much of a wreck you are, and I think we, as men, are destined to suffer. Grass is greener, yeah?"

"I supp- oh, there's an idea."

"Hmm?" Keido's eyes shot towards me.

"Here." I unhitched myself from Keido's support.

"It's such a stupid idea. I mean, you're good on the front end, when it comes to girls, right?"

Keido nodded in affirmation.

"Yeah. Usually takes about three weeks for things to blow up."

"Good. I know a young lady who goes for our type. Name's Carol. I'm gonna give you a convention I'm sending her to soon; it's a General Management and Contractors convention, so you should be able to hoc it into your schedule. Find her and make friendly."

"Really? Who is this girl?"

"Her name's Carol Valiér," I pulled out my phone and brought up a picture. "Her, to my left."

"Oh. She's cute."

I sent Keido a text with the convention details. This is a hobby I haven't practiced since college: playing matchmaker. It was a quaint kind of comfort; even when I was (at the time) bereft of romantic opportunities, there was some consolation in hitching others up and helping them find happiness. Hopefully, maybe some magic will work out between my latest victims. An added bonus would be diverting Carol's broken heart and helping her focus on work.

"Thanks. But, for yourself… are you going to be alright with your lady?"

"I don't know."

We exited the bar, facing the dark streets of Indigo Plateau. Keido had driven us here, and was parked not too far out. I had already buzzed Wilkins to come pick me up. Keido opted to wait until my driver arrived before departing himself.

"I've thought of something," he said at length.

"Yeah?"

"Now I hope I'm not reading too much into your relationship, but… I think you should stay. Make it work. Maybe reconsider the idea of being a working father. The runts stay mindless babies for a few years anyways."

"But-"

He held up a hand.

"The reason being, is that, I think I know Cynthia's type. She's a strong girl and she expects her man to be strong too. She didn't say "I do" to a wimp, she fell in love with the Maxis Magazine two-time Man-of-the-Year. She loves you for who you are; and this issue, this guilt? That was around before you even met her. If you truly, truly think it's your duty to safeguard the League, then that's something special, something cool about you that she loves, and she will respect it."

"Huh."

I don't know if it's the truth, or if it's just a novel spin on the facts.

"So, keep chugging until you find someone you can trust to hand the League off to."

"That might take a long while. Maybe forever. Probably… no less than ten years, while I wait for Gabe to croak."

"Eh, I don't know the upper echelon politics that well. I'm just saying-" and here, he brought his reassuring hand to my shoulder. "-do what you believe in. Never forget what you believe in. Everything else will turn out okay."

"Huh."

How is it that the most cliché advice always sounds so profound? Must be the alcohol.

"Don't drink and drive!"

"I only had the three, and that was more than an hour ago."

"Three? That's a lot."

"I take my beer way better than you, goldilocks lily-belly."

"Oh now you're asking for it."

I raised my fist, but the sober(er) man dodged away.

"Hey, your ride's here. I'm in Indigo for a couple weeks, so I guess we can hook a few more times. See ya."

"See ya."

As Wilkins headlights shone out on us and Keido turned to depart, I echoed his words of advice to myself.

"Do what I believe in, huh…"

 

* * *

 

Six Months Ago

October 1st, 2008

Redwood City, Castor Region

Pokémon League Central Headquarters

Pokémon HQ reached 81 stories above me, looming over the small crowd like a stern parent over an infant. It was a modern monolith of chrome and glass, reflecting the other, shorter skyscrapers in its façade. Whiffs of low-lying clouds curled around the antennae tower, such was its height. The building unnerved me. Mankind was not meant to build such things; it was an affront to gravity.

Brach waddled up beside me, caught me staring up at the imperious skyscraper, and chuckled. "Hoenn doesn't have anything like it, do they? Well I hope you get used to it. This'll be your workplace."

"I don't plan on staying in one place very long." Little did Gabriel Brach suspect how annoying my hands-on management approach would be to him.

"Well, I hope it's not fear of heights that keeps you away. It's not like the sub-headquarters are squat huts either."

Actually, I do have a nagging fear of heights, a carry-over of a childhood phobia.

_'Mommy, I don't wanna ride the roller-coaster! I don't wanna! Nooo!'_

Echoes of childhood.

"I find it interesting that your squat self prefers these towers. What would you do without elevators?" I retorted.

Brach laughed and patted my back. "I see we're going to get along splendidly. Now go make friendly with the crowd. You've got a job to do."

He's right.

Before a podium set on the steps of HQ, a crowd of business dignitaries, reporters, television crews, and politicians had been gathered and cordoned off. Behind them, a few dozen Pokémon fans and unknowing bystanders gathered loosely around,  like electrons floating around an atom. Their number was less than I expected and hoped for. Alas, it goes to show how badly mangled the League's reputation was.

An hour ago I had been sworn in as the new CEO of the Pokémon League. This would be my first press conference in that capacity. Considering the low esteem of our League (latest approval rating: _1.5%_ ), it's no wonder the fans and trainers had no enthusiasm for a changing-of-the-guard. The corporate and political bigwigs would be following this carefully, but I don't care about their opinions. I needed to make an impression on the ones who mattered, the trainers.

This speech would be important.

"Hello."

The crowd stiffened, listening intently.

"First, I want to say that I am thankful to the Pokémon League Board of Trustees for the opportunity to helm the League. It has been my dream to be able to impact the world of Pokémon in a positive way, and now that I am in a position to maximize that goal, I promise to do everything in my power to improve the League. I'd like to thank Gabriel Brach for his recommendation to this position. And, I'd also like to thank my _wife_ (it's still funny, even two weeks on now, how new and strange the 'wife' word is to me) for her love and support."

Cynthia wasn't actually present, as she had been visiting her parents. She should be in the air and on her way right now. It was fine, I thought, we'd have plenty of time to celebrate at the dinner tonight.

"Now…" I stepped around the podium, and began walking towards the audience. "Now we have the obligatory speech out of the way, I want to talk about something. About _me_ , about the _League_ , about the _way_ we do _things_." Each word was punctuated by a heavy footstep upon the marble. I came to a stop at the bottom, and took a seat on the cold stone. The audience looked at me with interested, nervous eyes, wondering what stunt I was preparing.

"And not just the way the League's been acting recently. No, for all its existence. A fundamental way of thinking that's been hurting our relationship with the ones we care for."

A large, upturned cardboard box had been set at the bottom of the steps. The reporters had been whispering to themselves since before the speech about what might lie beneath it. I now picked it up and tossed it away, revealing the contents lying on the ground. The crowd inhaled sharply.

"Don't gasp," I cautioned. "Don't panic. It's unloaded." I picked up the gun by the barrel, unlatched it, and showed the empty chamber to the nearest spectators. I then set the weapon down beside the other objects- an anvil, a pair of safety glasses, and a sledgehammer.

"You thought I was going to fire it, didn't you?"

A nervous chuckle made its way through the audience.

"What we have here is an _assumption_. Assumptions are dangerous things, you know. You see a gun, you react like you just did, with fear and anxiety. You assume guns are dangerous."

I let out one of my pokeballs, a tiny Pokémon, the tiniest, actually, a Joltik. The thing looked absolutely harmless, even adorable. The younger women of the crowd let out silent cooing at the sight of the electric tick.

"You see a Pokémon, and you assume it's safe, tame, and cute. Aren't you, you little bugger?" I scratched the little fellow on the noggin, then stood straight to face the crowd. My smile morphed ominously into a frown.

"105 people died last year from allergic reactions to Joltik bites."

I motioned towards the gun with one hand, and the Joltik on the other.

"What's the difference?" I asked. No one answered. They had been expecting a trump speech, not an active lecture; no one was about to make a fool of themselves by answering a rhetorical question. "What's the difference?!" I repeated, hoping some stupid soul would actually answer.

"…"

It's no use. I have to explain it to them.

"The answer, is that one represents the power of Pokémon, and the other represents the power of Man, and the attitudes we hold towards each. The assumptions we make towards each."

"We _assume_ that humans and Pokémon are fundamentally different entities. In some ways, that is true. Human DNA is not found in the Mew DNA sequence, something we only share with insects, bacteria, plants, and other lower life-forms. Humans do not evolve. Humans are squishier, slower, humans cannot manipulate the elements like Pokémon do. We, as a species, are strangely underequipped for survival compared to our Pokémon."

I shrugged.

"Why do humans rule the world, then?" I yelled out. No one, cowards that they were, ventured an answer, still.

"Hmm? Why do humans rule the world? By all rights, we're weak, and Pokémon are strong. They are big, and scary, and can breath fire and ice, and there are more of them than us. So how is that the weakest species on the planet came to dominance? Because we're smarter?"

I tapped the gun.

"Brains. We developed civilization. We built power-plants, and cities, and roads, and discovered medicine and the laws of physics. We created pokeballs and the PC network to help us capture and control Pokémon. And when all else failed…" I tapped the gun again. "We created weapons. Guns, deadlier than any Pokémon attack. And so we have our guns, and we assume Pokémon are weak in comparison; and we have our pokeballs, and assume Pokémon are subservient. For all our professed love of each other and the bonds of partnership, none of that matters when crisis strikes and our base instincts take over."

"For the truth is, we've been treating Pokémon with fear. Yes, _fear_." I could see the faces of the gathered crowd contort. What I was saying was striking a nerve.

"We're afraid of them. Deep down we still remember the time when our ancestors huddled in their huts and looked with fear upon the strange, dangerous animals lurking in the tall grass. Today we caution our children against walking into the wilds. We make sure they're mature and are armed with pokeballs before venturing out. We regulate and evaluate and shield our Pokémon matches, because we are afraid of one psychopathic Pokémon breaking loose and starting a bloodbath. We look at our Pokémon and see, beneath the veneer of friendship, a _monster_."

"So we suppress them and control them. We catch them and force them to obey us. We hope they cooperate with us because of a bond, but that bond is never without the failsafe of a pokeball at hand. And, when things do get out of hand and blows come to blows, we use our guns and our bombs and our shells to kill them. It's our world because we can kill Pokémon, simple as that."

I sighed.

"It's sad. We live in a mockery of peace, where Pokémon live as slaves and most are happy to live as slaves." I reached to my belt and took another pokeball. A moment later Metagross appeared beside me.

" _Metagross_." It stood there, idly, completely unfazed by the situation. To think, a behemoth that could run rampant through the crowd, crushing them beneath its metal limbs, completely docile.

"I can let a monster like this out, and no one bats an eye. We all assume we are safe. Not because Metagross is my friend, but because my pokeball could trap it the instant it tries to do something dangerous."

I held my pokeball aloft.

"You all, humanity, say that our relationship with Pokémon is built on friendship, companionship, and love. We work together towards mutual goals. But that's a lie. Our relationship is built on fear and control, and friendship only comes secondary. This _fact_ is hidden; it only becomes evident during times of crisis. We can go day-to-day happy-as-can-be, but when violence erupts, our true nature comes out."

I picked myself off the ground, and then I picked up the rifle and held it aloft.

"This rifle, this very rifle, was the one used to kill Grey Forester's Aerodactyl that one fateful day. I was there, I saw the guard fire it, I saw the Aerodactyl die. I'm not saying it wasn't the right thing to do- a moment before, I saw that Aerodactyl kill 124 humans and 15 Pokémon. But I have to ask- why? Why did it come to that? Why did we have a murderous, rampaging Pokémon on our hands, and why did we have to resort to a deadly instrument to contain it?"

I began pacing the steps. The reporters, hanging off my every word, bustled to and fro, like a Meowth chasing a laser dot. The business dignitaries hung back, unsure of the tone this new CEO was taking and not wanting to get caught up in the craziness.

"What's even more illustrative, I think, is what came after. Lance, my predecessor, was appointed. And, with the general public's blessing, he began a campaign to essentially suppress Pokémon, to the point of oppression. Registration, restrictions, you know the deal."

"Did no one stop and say, 'Hey, this is kind of immoral?' No, not many. Most people were happy, for a time, to let Pokémon be treated like caged animals. Not until their own boredom and unrest did they start protesting. No concern for the Pokémon themselves. They were just tools. Toys for entertainment, wild animals that needed to be tamed."

"So I say again, our relationship is built on fear and control. Our relationship is underwritten-" I shook the gun, "-by violence. Is this what we want to become? Is _this_ what we want our relationship with Pokémon to be?"

"I want to believe that Humans and Pokémon are friends! I want to believe that we have each other's best interest at heart! And I want to strive for a world where we don't need guns to feel safe around our own Pokémon!" I set the weapon carefully down upon the anvil.

"Creating fear and mistrust? Treating them like tools? Letting the Pokémon be just another instrument of negative feelings? I promise you, if we treat them like dangerous monsters, they will become dangerous monsters. And then we will have more massacres like the World Tournament. And then we will kill more Pokémon, and subjugate the remainder even more harshly. It will beget a cycle we will not recover from, until the stronger side has completely wiped out the other. And we, as humans, with our guns and artillery and our atomic-bombs, are certainly the stronger side. So imagine the sad, miserable world where Pokémon are no longer and humanity weeps to itself in its utter loneliness."

I picked up the sledgehammer and donned the safety glasses.

"That is not the world I want to live in! I do not want to live by real-politik, by a survival-of-the-fittest mentality that has us 'befriending' Pokémon at the end of a gun barrel! This-"

I brought the sledgehammer over my head and smashing downwards. There was a clash and sparks, and the rifle burst into a dozen mangled fragments. The crowd reared back, like a mass of suddenly-disturbed Butterfrees. They had really not expected such an outburst from me.

"-THIS IS NOT WHAT OUR RELATIONSHIP IS SUPPOSED TO BE!"

I tossed the sledgehammer aside, chest heaving from the exertion and adrenaline.

"I was brought into this job to shore up the League's reputation. But I have other ideas. I want to end this culture of disrespect. I want to create a society where people feel safe because Pokémon are our friends and protectors. Where we can trust our Pokémon in the same way a child trusts their parent: Implicitly. Unreservedly. Unconditionally. No more fear. No more violence."

"Love is not a word you guys take seriously. I know that. Love is not concrete. Love is not a business strategy. Love doesn't have a number, and love cannot be counted nor directed nor controlled. But I love my Metagross and would trust my life to it." I leaned down upon my steel behemoth. It responded by humming ever so lightly.

"Without love, what do you have left to guarantee our safety?" I kicked a scrap of the rifle into the audience's feet. "Murder," I sneered.

"So if you'll excuse me, I'll be having lunch now. Feel free to join me in the press room in 45 minutes, where I'll take questions and provide specific details on what my administration plans to do."

The reporters jumped to life, attempting to get one last word out of me before I left. Ignoring them, I stormed back into the headquarters.

 

* * *

  
Present Day

March 27th, 2009

Keido wonders what I believe in, huh? I thought I made that explicitly clear six months ago, when I took this job.

Pokémon are companions, with feelings and aspirations. They should be treated with love and respect. Our relationship is based on trust. We need to avoid, at all costs, a relationship of fear and control. That can only end badly, for all species.

That's what Grey Forester taught me. A trainer who cared more for winning than for the respect of his own Pokémon. Aerodactyl had been treated with contempt when it could not meet Mr. Forester's standards. It grew to resent and hate its trainer, and it grew to believe that power was all that mattered in this world. That combination of anger and hatred, power and reckless competitiveness, heightened by the stress of a major battle, was what drove Aerodactyl into a berserk rage.

If we, all of us, and especially me, had put our battling into context, those 139 living beings would not have died that day. We forgot that it was just a game, a competition that was supposed to _replace_ violent conflict, not _create_ it. Pokémon battling had begun when early humans and Pokémon began befriending each other. Our ancestors learned that we didn't have to fear those wild and dangerous creatures hiding in the tall grass. Our anger and fear could be assuaged by cooperation; that lethal clashes could be replaced by harmless battles. Somewhere along the way, we forgot that and began reverting to our old, primordial, barbarian selves.

We need to get back to that loving connection between us and Pokémon.

This is what I believed in. And until I had drilled that belief into every nook, cranny, cranium, and heart of the Pokémon League, I couldn't quit. Even if I lost Cynthia because of it, even if it kills me; I need to see this through. The horrors of that one day haunt me still; to let it happen again would end me.

Wilkins rounded the familiar curve on the forested hillside. The lights of the palatial house came into view, shining between tree branches. It was late, 11:32, but the fact that the lights were on meant Cynthia was still up.

I sighed.

Every time I remind myself what I believe in, reality comes crawling out of the murk to claw at my heart. What I want and what I really want are two different things, and I still don't know how I'm going to survive trying to accommodate both of them.

I thanked Wilkins and got out. The place was quiet, gently so, the only sound the rustle of pine needles in the wind. The side entrance was unlocked, the inner door already opened and inviting me inside.

"I'm home," I called aloud, tiredly.


	10. Successor

"Hello?" I called out. No one answered. The air heater beat a constant hum, but otherwise I was the only thing making sounds. Appliances and decorations were approximately where I had left them. Everything was in its  place and yet not everything was exactly how I remembered it. The house felt strange and discomforting, as if some stranger had welcomed themselves inside. It's not right to come home with the lights on but no living bodies present.

Maybe Cynthia fell asleep. I wandered to the bedroom but found the bed flat and empty. An incense candle burned on one nightstand, but had nearly given out. The faint smell of lilacs filled the air.

The dining room was similarly empty, even though there were signs of recent habitation: a plate of half-eaten leftovers, a television in sleep-mode, a steaming humidifier. I poked a finger into the curry rice - it was cold.

Not an intruder, I thought, but a ghost. I was reminded of those eerie docudramas of disaster-induced ghost towns- walking into houses abandoned years ago, but looking as if the families had not been gone for more than a few hours.

"Cynthia?" A survey of the kitchen, study, and a dozen other miscellanies rooms turned up similarly just-shy results. I began humming, a made-up, aimless tune, just enough to break the silence hanging over the household. It was a habit of mine, when stressed. Total silence had never sat well with me; it was rather unnerving. Even in the deep bowls of the earth, I always kept Metagross out to create some ambient noise. This lack of sound, lack of definite habitation, was starting to creep into my skull, stirring up a faint whisper of a doubt.

I had left this morning, thinking how terrible it would be if we were to never meet again. True to my self-centered worldview, I had assumed I would be the one to meet with a psychopathic assassin or some catastrophic accident. I had never considered that I could become be the widow. Now, with every sign pointing to a sudden and unexplained disappearance, that scenario's viability crept into the realm of (slim) possibility.

A shiver ran down my arms, followed by a chill in my breast. My heart knotted.

_She's just curled up somewhere with a book,_ I silently told myself. _She probably fell asleep waiting for you to come home._ But, having investigated nearly every orifice of the residence, I had still failed to find her.

"Amore," I muttered to myself. My Gardevoir might have a clue. She was supposed to lock up at the end of the day. The Pokémon couldn't recall herself into her pokeball, so she typically waited for me to do so. She'd still be there, in the rec center. If there was an emergency, Amore would have…

I reached towards the compad to unlock the door to the rec center's tunnel entrance, but halted. The door was cracked open. Odd. I checked with Sally to find out that the security had not been activated yet. Also odd. Cynthia always turns it on when I'm out late.

I pushed the door open and proceeded through. Each step was taken with deliberate care, aiming to make no sound at all. At the far end, the rec center's lights were on. The far door was also cracked. I put my ear to it, hoping and dreading at the same time.

"-he's getting tired of me?"

" _Voira! Voir vor garrdedevoir!_ "

"But he comes home later and later every night. I'm starting to think he's avoiding me. He's evasive at night, and he's very short on his text replies. He doesn't get as enthusiastic about sex, too… some nights it takes him a half hour to get it up. Are those signs I'm losing him?"

" _Voir."_

I blushed, and then mentally chastised myself for fearing the worst.

"I don't think he's seeing anyone else. It's not like he's distracted… just, what's the word? Drained. He's always tired, and he works way too much. And he seems so… sad."

" _Gardev?_ "

"It's hard to put a finger on it. But… I'm not sure. There is- he doesn't know this, but I watch him leave each morning. He sighs at the door. What is he sighing for? It's like he's regretting something. I don't think it's me, but how can I be sure?"

" _Gardevoir_."

"I just wish there were something I could do to cheer him up, damn it! Since when does a good fucking not work on a man?! Damn it all! Oh please don't blush, I'm sorry I said that…"

" _Voir_ …"

"I just want him to be happy. If he's unhappy now, how'll he react when I get pregnant? I don't want him to think of our child as a big nuisance to him. What if he doesn't want to be a father? But… he must, right? He married me, right? He's got to know what the all this sex will lead to. Amore, you're his Pokémon, do you know what's bothering him?"

" _Gardede, voiravivivoir! Gard e devoir garre._ "

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying. If only you spoke a human language!"

There was no burglar. Just an unusual late-night visit to the rec center by my beloved. Still, the fact that my own body reacted in such a way at the mere thought of losing her should prove my feelings for her. In lieu of her conversation just now, it seemed I was worried about the wrong kind of "losing her".

She doesn't even know how close to the truth she is. It hurts to not be able to tell her. No one is threatening me to keep my feelings secret. It's just me and my cowardice that is hurting me, when I so badly want to tell her how much I love her, and how much I would adore a child! I can't… I'm weak and I can't say it. I wouldn't want to get her hopes up, when there's no mini-me's or mini-her's coming. She underestimates the stress I'm under due to my job, because she doesn't realize it's not merely a job to me but a moral obligation. I can't even tell her that.

If I told her, I'd bring this self-deception crashing down around me, and then I would- I know I would- quit the League in an instant. Then the hounds of memory would follow me every day of my life, accusing me of being blithe and callous when such misery as the World championship massacre happened and could still happen again.

As if, because of that one day, I was never allowed to be happy again.

I gulped.

"I'm home."

I pressed through the doorway. Cynthia started, but only for an instant, before leaping into my arms. Her lips met my forehead, then each cheek, then my own lips, in her usual passionate, ritualized greeting.

"Long day? she inquired.

"Very."

"I've got something to help," she said playfully. She beckoned to Amore. The Pokémon made a trip to the shelf and came back with a thermos. She handed this to Cynthia, who handed it to me.

"What is this?" I opened the bottle and sniffed. A strong odor of cinnamon and.. peaches? reached my nose.

"A special tea recipe I found in my grandmother's keepsakes. It's supposed to help you loosen up."

"Peaches…"

"They're an aphrodisiac, supposedly."

"I see." I said that with a wearied voice, putting Cynthia on guard. Her eyebrow lifted and her head cocked to the side. She's on the verge of gently accusing me of being impotent for the night. I quickly took a long sip out of the bottle to show her otherwise.

"Are you too tired?" she asked.

"No, no."

"What about working? Are you going again tomorrow?"

"Yes… but I'll probably wait till noon, work the afternoon shift, so to speak."

"Ah!"

Which was as good as saying "Tonight we're rock 'n' rolling baby!" Her expression was like a child who had just been promised an ice cream cone and a trip to Nimbasa Land.

"Let me put Amore to bed," I whispered.

Amore was watching the two of us, and blushing. The Pokémon was fully cognizant of our plans for the night, and the shy Pokémon could hardly contain her embarrassment.

"Alright, Amore, sweat dreams." She curtsied, and the pokeball zapped into her, reducing her physical body to a digitized wave of energy. I touched the occupied pokeball to my cheek, listening. There was no cry from within, but I liked to imagine I could hear Amore sighing herself to sleep.

"Stasis acclimation addiction," I began idly explaining to Cynthia. "I just read about it the other day, it'd explain why they all prefer the pokeballs. They get too used to sleeping under PC-induced stasis, so they find it hard to go to sleep naturally."

My wife nodded along.

"We should let them out at night so they can get back to normal."

"Maybe," I replied. "I wonder how we'd fit them all." I had more than forty Pokémon, and Cynthia owned more than triple that- although some of hers lived at her grandmother's village. We paused a moment to look at the PC station and contemplate the Pokémon held within, then departed.

All the way down the tunnel and back to the kitchen she held onto my arm.

"Dear, you're making it difficult to drink this."

"How is it?"

"Refreshing, as promised, but-" and some of the precious liquid sloshed out of the bottle to demonstrate my complaint. Cynthia, playful as she was, simply stalked around and pounced on my non-drink-holding arm.

"What did you do at work?" she asked.

"I made the League oodles and oodles of money, but the board basically said "not good enough"- bunch'a unpleasable crybabies. And you?"

"Not much. Trained the Pokémon, browsed, worked out, baked."

"Aren't you getting bored house-sitting?"

"Not really. I think I could get used to it."

"But don't you want to go out into the world again? Just because I retired from battling doesn't mean you have to."

"No, no. I could use a break. And Indigo has plenty to do when I  
get that itch."

She says this and it's obvious she's situating herself to be a stay-at-home mother. It's a little disappointing to see one of the era's all-time greats just fade out of the competitive scene. Now I know how my fans feel. I also know the malaise that can set in when one is dragged into a stagnant, unsettled lifestyle. Were it not for my guilt and conviction, I would not be able to stay mentally stable doing this job. How is she going to cope? What will her moral bulwark against the tedium of a settled life be? Hopefully it's not the thought of being a mother- that won't happen, not any time soon.

"As long as you're happy," I told her.

"I'm sure I will be."

_'Will be'_.

Every word. Every sign. Every glance. Every action.

Could I get inside her head, see exactly what she is thinking? Figure out why this sudden urge for offspring has now consumed her? Does she have some personal tragedy pushing her forwards, like me? Is it something happier? Is it disappointment in her own life, a need to live vicariously through her children? With all her accomplishments, that's absurd! Is it to honor the wonderful childhood her own parents gave her?! What compels her?! I don't have a damn clue. I'm an ignorant idiot!

We're gazing into each other's eyes over the kitchen table as we both sip on tea and steal sly glances, and I pray to Arceus that she can't see the frustration and inadequacy boiling inside me. Then her eyebrows furl and I know she's read me like a neon billboard. As if Arceus itself had perfectly crafted her for the purpose of dealing with me.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You've been distracted since you got home."

"Mmhmm."

Her head tilted, waiting for an explanation.

"Just… had a rash of bad memories brought to surface today."

It was a truth, just not the truth that involved our relationship issues.

If only I could stop being a coward and tell her. "Honey, I know this will be hard to hear, but I don't want a child yet. Not until I retire." That's how simple it would be. We'd have a long, difficult conversation, but that first sentence would be the hardest. If I could only blurt that out…

"Honey, I have something to tell you."

"Hmm?"

"I…"

I'm choking.

She's so… damn… perfect. The way her platinum bangs drape over her eyes: seductive. Her bust, big and supple: utter fun to play with in bed. A strong, erect back that never backs down, no matter how much of my stress I take out on her. Eyes the color of the clouds, hiding within them the beautiful mind I, the earthbound wanderer, could never reach. The tenderness to nurse me back from the depths of guilt and shame.

"Are you okay…?" she said.

"I'm-" I choked again.

"You mentioned memories. Did someone bring up that day in Castelia?"

I nodded, not telling her it was myself who dredged the black memories up.

"It's okay. It's six years now. Six years! Think about all the people who've been born since then. Life goes on! Think about all the happiness you've created these past six years. No one blames you. They all adore you. _I_ adore you."

"I know you do… I just wanted to say…"

Damn it! Out with it!

"I appreciate it, and love you, love you, love you, so much. I want you to be happy."

GAHGHGH! You filthy jackknifing liar! You have no intention of doing the one thing that would make her happy! She only wants one thing in the world and you won't give it to her! After every other sacrifice she makes for you, you deny her this!

But she still smiles, ignorant of the medicine, of my real feelings, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Will you be okay?"

"Yeah."

We sat there, her hand on me, absorbing the heavy energy twisting around the air, until it had been wholly consumed and battened down. Her touch reached lower, caressing my hand. Then something else touched me under the table- her foot against my calf. It worked its way up, till it was prodding mankind's most personal space.

"It's late," I made up an excuse, desperately fighting the urges of my nethers.

"You said you would work in the afternoon," she accused.

"I'm simply saying we shouldn't be wasting time tonight," I replied. She smiled, one of those gentle, sealed-lipped smiles that, more than any words, makes me feel like everything will be alright. Cynthia rose and drifted inside the bedroom door. She reemerged a few moments later, sans her shirt and pants, dressed only in her undergarments. Her index finger beckoned.

"Well, ready to try again?" she called.

 

* * *

 

Later on, the both of us exhausted and naked under the covers, we lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Cynthia was already dozing off to sleep. Perhaps she was dreaming about the impotent sperm swimming around inside of her, hoping they'd find the egg this time.

I, out of the corner of my eye, caught the glint of gold. A trophy, shaped like a cup holding a Master Ball and adorned with elaborate wings, sat on the dresser. It was the third of my three world championship trophies: the one I had "earned" shortly after the Castelia massacre. Doral had forfeited the trophy to me in lieu of an actual final battle, since no one could stomach a continuation of that tournament. It would have been disrespectful. The trophy was a sham of a prize, something I held no pride in. That's why I keep it here, where no one could see it, and not in the office with my other two.

Two choices, and I was trapped between the two of them.

Not that I couldn't sire a child right now. Even with my exhaustive workday, missing out on their childhood was not what I truly feared.

Deep down, I could not allow myself to bring a human being into the world, with the way the world was so fucked up because of me and people like me.

I hear it, sometimes, the rumors. The naysayers. Less so than years past, but still existent.

"There goes Steven Stone, one of those die-hard extremist trainers who ruined Pokémon battles. They went too far, and now people are dead, and now no one can enjoy Pokémon battles."

And they're right. For now. The state of competitive Pokémon battling is in such a precarious position. Another massacre, and the entire sport would be banished. Children would never be allowed near a Pokémon again. We would go back to the days of barbarism, where Pokémon are treated as wild monsters to be feared.

I want my children to experience the same joys I did when catching their first Pokémon, growing and bonding with them, challenging the Gym Leaders, having their own adventure. I don't want them to live without the companionship of the special creatures that share our world. I don't want them forever living under my shadow, as the descendants of the man who drove Human-Pokémon relationships into extinction.

Sorry, Cynthia. I couldn't live with that. I need to do this job. I need to see the Pokemon League righted, its future, and the future of all trainers, secured.

But, I wonder if I'll ever make it to that point. The madness of trying to stick to such a high ideal, even if it tears me away from Cynthia?

If I lose her, what makes me think I'll stay sane enough to carry out my mission? Wouldn't that leave me childless, and thence rip from me the purpose for my personal sacrifice?

Cynthia, what should I do? I need a way out! Where is my third option?!

…

And it came to me, slowly, over the course of a timeless hour spent staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

A compromise.

A successor.

I needed someone who believed in what I believed in. Someone single. Someone younger. Someone who could handle the pressure of running the world's largest public organization, and could guide it towards an era of positive relations between Humans and Pokémon.

No such person existed. Not as far as I knew. Certainly no one within the League.

"An heir," I muttered.

That's it.

This theoretical person didn't have to exist…. YET.

I'll take some schmuck with lots of promise, mold them into a world-class specimen, and designate them as my successor.

Then I could unload the burdens of the Pokémon League onto them. Then I could retire. Then I could drop the teclazone, and then I could welcome Steven Jr. into the world, and my family would be complete and happy.

That is something I have been yearning for for six long, long years. For six years, I didn't see a path to attaining it.

Tonight, I finally have a plan.

It's so simple. I feel embarrassed I hadn't thought of this sooner.

It's your big fat ego, Steven. You assumed you were the only person who could get the job done, and never considered someone else would be as able, perhaps more able (given your personal situation) to lead the Pokémon League.

"Huh."

Now, I just needed to make sure I find the right person.

They had to be young. Old people are corrupt and rigid, and most of them are beholden to the same grim world-view as Gabriel Brach.

They had to love Pokémon- perhaps more so than humans. Let's not have them facing the same conflict of interest as I am, torn between a woman (or a man, as the case may be) and their duty. Someone willing to strive, with everything they've got, to ensure a positive future for trainers.

Someone rich- no, scratch that. Whatever clout, whatever resources they need, I can provide. The only thing they need in this regard is… Charisma. Likability. Popularity. In other words, the personal ability to sway people's hearts, especially the hearts of the clod-heads in the Pokémon League Board of Trustees.

Lastly, someone with a good work ethic. The CEO position is not doable by someone who only wants to put in forty hours a week. It would be incredibly tough on them… A trainer, a champion of some regional. I've yet to meet someone who's pulled that off without the ability to commit significant chunks of their lives to a cause.

Someone I could shape. Mentor. Mold.

Three years. That's all it would take to train a successor. Much less than the ten or fifteen I had predicted before coming home tonight. Even then, I could start reducing my workdays, give this theoretical heir some of my duties, spend more time with Cynthia. Make sure our quality time includes more than just bedtime rumpuses, much as I enjoy them. We could go cycling. We could hunt down obscure museums in the far corners of the world. She could teach me how to brew that cinna-peach tea.

I fell asleep, mulling the details of my succession. My last thoughts before drifting into slumber were of Cynthia, and how much I wanted to make her happy. Well, the very last thoughts of the night were these, actually:

"I wonder whose looks they will take? Hers, I hope. She's so beautiful. I need to find this successor fast. Hmm. I know… those three upstarts from… nearby… Kanto. Pallet Town, I think? The Pallet trio. Two boys and a girl. One's the grandson of Professor Oak. The other KO'd the local Elite Four recently. Trio got into a huge public spat after that. But they're good at the game. And they seem to have good hearts. I can't remember their names. What were they? They had some silly nicknames… Red and Blue and Green. That's it, that's them. Odd names. I watched the one take Lance down. Entertai- _YAWN_ \- entertaining battle. I think it was Red who did it."

My hand crept towards the slumbering hand of my wife. Already asleep, she still instinctively grasped it, fingers interlocking. My eyelids slowly closed, their last vision focusing on Cynthia's face.

"Red, huh. CEO Red of the Pokémon League. Just imagine th----" and with that unfinished sentence, my conscience went out and my long day ended.

 

-End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading Succession. I hope you enjoyed it, and welcome any and all comments, criticisms, or praise. If you have a question or would like to talk, I'd be happy to take messages here, or leave a link in the comments section (I have Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt, and Skype accounts I regularly check).
> 
> Succession is its own story, but it also is a prequel to Olivine Romance, as it explains Stone's motivations and decisions he makes (particularly towards Red) that will impact Jasmine's life.
> 
> With that, I bid you farewell for now.


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